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THE LITTLE HILLS 



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THE LITTLE HILLS 


BY 

NANCY HUSTON BANKS 

Author of “Oldfield” and “Round Anvil Rock 


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II THE LIBRARY OF 
I CONGRESS 
r Two CoDies RciceiveiJ 

JUN 20 1905 

Copynjfht Entry 
iruL iie,fCfo5' 
OLftSS XXo. Wo» 

COPY A. 



Copyright, 1905, 

By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. 


Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1905. 


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TO MY FATHER 


“The mountains also shall bring peace: and the 
little hills righteousness unto the people.” 

— Songs or David. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 



PACK 

I. 

Phcebe 



II. 

An Official Visit .... 

. 

• 17 

III. 

Phcebe’s Plight .... 

. 

. 42 

IV. 

The New Minister .... 

. 

60 

V. 

The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

. 

• 74 

VI. 

Transplanting Old Trees . 

. 

. 92 

VII. 

The Neighbors and their Wats . 

. 

. 109 

VIII. 

Rolling the Stone Up-hill . 

. 

. 130 

IX. 

An Early Ordeal .... 

. 

. 143 

X. 

The Rescue 

. 

. 160 

XI. 

Mrs. Crabtree’s Call . 

. 

. 171 

XII. 

Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

. 

. 191 

XIII. 

Setting Caps 

. 

. 204 

XIV. 

Arabella’s Inspiration . 

. 

. 217 

XV. 

Great Expectations 

. 

• 234 

XVI. 

The Unexpected that always Happens 

. 246 

XVII. 

Clouds rifted with Silver . 

. 

. 258 

XVIII. 

Poor Father Rowan ! Poor Mother Rowan, 


TOO ! 

• 

. 271 

XIX. 

The Rain on the Roof . 

• 

. 281 

XX. 

Paying the Piper .... 

• 

. 291 

XXI. 

The Release of Phcebe 

vii 

• 

. 307 







THE LITTLE HILLS 


I 

PHCEBE 

The air was the breath of spice pinks. Wide 
borders of them wound around all the low beds, 
and the old garden lay just on the other side 
of the whitewashed fence. For this was a long 
time ago, near the ^middle of the last century. 
Then it was far down in a remote corner of 
the green earth ; where some of the sweet old 
things and many of the simple old ways lasted 
longer than almost anywhere else ; where a few 
of them linger yet, even as late as this very day. 

It was in June, too — on sunniest of June 
days — with a soft wind blowing over the bor- 
ders and every border in fullest bloom. That 
spicy sweetness had been Phoebe’s delight ever 
since she could remember. As a lonely, fanci- 
ful child she had learned to watch for the gray 
buds — these glittering points — which always 
sprang up almost as early as the first bluebird’s 


The Little Hills 


song awoke the spring. As a more lonely 
and fanciful girl she sometimes left her uncle 
for a moment, and ran into the garden to see 
how fast the little steel spears were marching 
summerward, how soon they would unfurl their 
scented pennants. As a most lonely and fan- 
ciful woman the scent of the spice pinks had 
gradually become to her the very fragrance of 
all that she had missed in life. But she did 
not know it. Of a contented, cheerful spirit 
she was not conscious of missing anything and 
hardly knew that she was lonely. 

Indeed she was not thinking of the pinks at 
all just then, nor of the roses and honeysuckles 
either, though they were blooming too in an 
exquisite tangle overhead, quite covering the 
porch on which she sat alone. She had given 
them only one hasty, anxious glance on coming 
out, uncertain whether they really were thick 
enough to keep her from being seen. With all 
her troubled heart she hoped so. She would 
not have ventured to come out had it not been 
so warm indoors that she could not think — 
and there was great need that she should think 
long and hard. After all that she had gone 
through during that dragging summer day, she 


Phoebe 


felt that she could not bear to have another 
neighbor come at this late hour, and try to turn 
her from doing what she held herself bound to 
do. She was not in the least afraid of being 
turned, but she was very much afraid of being 
scolded. Then the worst of it was that she 
had not one single word to say in her own 
defence. It had been hard to make a silent, 
passive, yet unyielding resistance to quicker 
minds and readier tongues, throughout that 
endless day. And it was all the harder be- 
cause she knew how kind the neighbors were 
and how good their motives; knew that they 
all loved her and felt a sort of tender responsi- 
bility for her welfare. They had always felt that 
because she was an orphan and they had grown 
used to telling her what to do, and what to 
leave undone when a child. For she was a 
gentle, reliant little thing, the nature that every- 
body naturally undertakes to guide. Moreover, 
these true friends never had realized that she 
was no longer a child — nor even a girl — but 
a woman full grown. She had hardly realized 
the fact herself till now when everything was 
suddenly changed and could never again be as 
it had been. 


3 


The Little Hills 


Mercifully it was nearly over. The sun was 
slowly sinking behind the hills at last. And 
then most of the good people had already come 
and gone — for a moment she could not think 
of any one who had not. Even Arabella, the 
Argonaut’s lady, who rarely paid attention to 
anything except her own affairs which were 
always urgent and important, had tripped airily 
in on her high heels with her pink ribbons 
flying to make a gay protest. She had smil- 
ingly declared that if this absurd plan were car- 
ried out, Phoebe would never have a penny to 
buy herself anything pretty to wear. And, 
to Arabella’s mind, there could be no more 
convincing argument than that. Phoebe could 
not help smiling in spite of her distress. Yes, 
even old Mrs. Crabtree, her aunt, had strolled 
lazily up the big road under the shade of the 
trees, to laugh at instead of scolding her, since 
she herself never took anything seriously, and 
this situation and the excitement over it seemed 
to her rather more amusing than most things. 
The drawl with which she spoke was comical 
enough and Phoebe laughed a little with her 
soft brown eyes full of tears, but without giving 
way one hair’s breadth. 


4 


Phoebe 


“Well,” old Mrs. Crabtree had drawled, look- 
ing over her spectacles as she always did when 
she wanted to see better ; “ there seems to be 
nothing more to say. You haven’t said one 
blessed thing. You haven’t given any reason 
for tying this millstone around your own fool- 
ish little neck. You won’t even get mad — 
or talk back — and all the time I can no more 
move you than a rock. Yes, I suppose I’d just 
as well be going home.” 

Saying this she had arisen with her usual 
air of indifference and sauntered off down the 
big road, keeping in the shade of the trees and 
taking time a-plenty to stop whenever she liked 
and lean on the fences, and look in through the 
open windows and doors. 

Of course Phoebe had gone with her to the 
gate and as she stood looking after her with 
a troubled gaze, she thought that there was a 
sudden movement of Mrs. Pottle’s window cur- 
tains. That lady who was usually more than 
ready to meet anybody had, nevertheless, been 
known to avoid old Mrs. Crabtree, when that 
might be done with dignity — that is to say 
without any public display of the white feather. 
Remembering this Phoebe had thought it likely 
5 


The Little Hills 


that the squire’s worthy wife was now peeping 
to see the enemy go by; that she was only 
waiting to make sure that the way was clear 
before coming herself. With this poor little 
Phoebe had turned and fled to the house in 
a panic. The first instinct of her helpless 
alarm had been to close the door and lock 
it. For meeting Mrs. Pottle was the ordeal 
most to be feared in all that she would have 
to face and stand against. But she had known 
that shutting the front door and even locking 
it would do no good, since that faithful friend 
would certainly come round the back way. 
Then she was almost breathless from fatigue 
and worry and the weather was warm ; so 
that the door was left open and after a while 
she forgot all about it and about the ordeal as 
well. Then later — still forgetting — the faint 
wandering breeze had drawn her out to sit on 
the porch under the cool vines. 

She was too deeply absorbed now in thought 
to notice that the sunbeams were still on the 
wing. They had faded from gold into silver 
and were slowly waning to mere shadows. Yet 
they still flew through the flowers and leaves 
at the faintest touch of the breeze. Fluttering 
6 


Phoebe 


down to the porch floor like shadowy flocks 
of spirit butterflies, they hovered over her little 
slippers with the narrow black ribbons crossed 
over the white stockings ; trembled up her 
mourning skirt to alight on her tightily clasped 
hands and quiver about her sad, sweet face. 
But she did notice how slowly the twilight 
was falling and wistfully looked across the big 
road where the parsonage stood ; lifting her 
clouded eyes to the tall chimney hoping that 
the swallows were beginning to circle above it. 
Then she sighed, knowing that it was only with 
the other mysterious shadows of evening that 
these mysterious shadow-birds circled with 
slanting wings, circling in ever narrowing 
circles, till they dropped silently down into 
their dark resting-place with other mysteries 
of night. 

But in truth the risk that somebody could see 
her seemed rather slight after all. ^ For the 
house itself could barely have been seen at a 
short distance down the big road. A giant elm 
stretched its mighty arms clear over the roof, 
high above the many other trees. Then the 
moss-grown roof was small as well as low and 
the wooden wall quite overrun by a tangle of 


7 


The Little Hills 


green. The creepers had wrought beauty with | 
patience through many tranquil years. They 
had ranged one row of shining leaves above 
another till the crumbling boards were covered : 
with living green, and shone and rippled in 
emerald waves whenever the sun was bright 
and the wind blew. Thus borne slowly up- ! 
ward on the steadily rising tide of verdure the 
tireless climbers had made the mossy roof 
greener with every spring, till they reached the 
broken chimney- top. But there the strongest 
and boldest had long, long ago been compelled 
to turn back, since it could neither advance | 
nor linger. For that is one of the Laws of j 
Life. Nothing alive shall ever stand still or I 
even pause for an instant. Everything that 
lives must always go on or go back. Be it 
material or mental or spiritual, while living 
it must always go forward or backward — al- 
ways either upward or downward. That is an 
appalling thing for us human creatures to know, 
seeing how little we achieve. And these grop- 
ing tendrils so bent down had blindly laid hold 
on the poor little pillars of the poor old porch 
— as we in our turn lay hold on what we can 
reach — and after wreathing them with new 
8 


Phoebe 


strength and beauty had gone on weaving as 
the years went by, till they had finally woven 
this wonderful curtain of foliage and flowers 
which Phoebe was now hiding behind. 

In a sudden fright she started up hastily, 
glancing round and thinking that she heard 
voices. In another moment she knew that 
the sound came from the parsonage and then 
she saw the flutter of something white. It was 
merely the snowy napkin which covered a small 
earthenware jar, slightly moved by the breeze. 
As her clouded eyes fell upon it a quick smile 
lit her sad face. She was naturally light-hearted 
and fond of fun and there had been a comical 
dispute over that little yeast-jar — such a small 
matter to raise such a large commotion. There 
were dimples in her smooth cheeks as she re- 
called the solemn indignation with which Mrs. 
Pottle had regarded the placing of that yeast- 
jar on the post of the parsonage front gate, as 
a deliberate personal affront to herself and a 
premeditated insult to the whole congregation. 
The new minister had to be sure said that 
his aunt, who kept house for him as he was 
unmarried, set the yeast-jar on the gate-post, 
simply and solely because it was the only sunny 
9 


The Little Hills 


spot about the parsonage. But he had laughed 
like a boy in saying it, and so had made the 
matter still worse in Mrs. Pottle’s opinion. 
Phcebe’s soft brown eyes were dancing and her 
pretty dimples were playing by this time. But 
her face grew sober soon enough. She could 
not think of the new minister yet without a 
pang. And then thinking of Mrs. Pottle again 
reminded her that this good friend who was 
almost like a mother and the hardest of all to 
resist, had not yet come and certainly would 
do so before the sinking sun went down. 

Then the soft brown eyes clouded at once 
with intense thought. There was much to 
think over, much to consider. For ways and 
means were yet to be considered, though she 
had quite decided what she would do. Phoebe 
was not at all the kind of woman who waits to 
know how she can do what she believes to be 
right, before making up her mind that she will 
do it. She must have been some other than 
herself in order to hesitate simply because she 
could not see her way. And indeed the woman 
who decides before she considers, whose strength 
is of the heart and spirit rather than of the 
mind and body, is hard to daunt and harder to 


10 


Phoebe 


defeat, for the simple reason that she does not 
readily see material obstacles and hardly ever 
knows when she is beaten. Oh no, there was 
no doubt or hesitation whatever in Phoebe’s 
perplexity. She was only very tired and very 
much at a loss how to get the neighbors to 
leave her alone and free to think. There it 
was again — that murmur of voices — and from 
the opposite direction surely. Starting forward 
in her fright she pushed the vines aside rather 
recklessly. The glow of the sunset fell full on 
her curly brown head which was almost as 
brown as her eyes. Nothing could be browner 
than they were, with those lovely shadows 
round them and those long, bewitching lashes 
that threw the shadows on her flushed cheeks 
which were brown too, most delicately, most 
exquisitely brown like the deep heart of a tea- 
rose. Indeed there was about her rounded 
little figure, her quick way of turning her pretty 
little head, her quickness and lightness in every 
movement something very like a wren, a brown 
little house-wren. She had a good deal of the 
wren’s nature also for she was naturally brisk, 
cheery, busy and nearly always happy. It was 
not often that she sat like this, still and idle 

ji 


The Little Hills 


with wistful eyes and saddened face. Even 
this brief respite was already bringing back 
some of her bright serenity. And all would be 
well with her very soon — if only — if only 
no one else would come just yet; if only every- 
body would stay away so that she might have 
quiet and peace to think; time at least to 
muster some excuse for what she was about 
to do, for she could not give the only excuse 
that she had. Oh ! oh ! if they all only would 
stay away and leave her alone for a little while ! 
She knew how kind they meant to be, but she 
could not bear the kindest mention of her 
trouble. Every word that they had spoken, 
every question that they had asked, all in the 
most unselfish kindness had been torture — 
torture as unbearable as blows on an unhealed 
wound. 

Cautiously leaning forward her troubled gaze 
searched the big road. This single street of 
the little town along which the old houses 
straggled under the older trees, ran by her 
front gate with but a narrow strip of turf 
between it and the sunken stone steps of 
her porch. She could see far down it as her 
house stood on a hill. Nobody was in sight 


12 


Phoebe 


and there had been no passing for more than 
an hour. But she knew that it could not be 
long before the neighbors would come out, for 
it was very near the time when they always 
did. Some of them liked to stroll up and down 
the big road, stopping now and then to lean 
over the whitewashed fences, or over the green 
front gates to chat with one another. Others 
were content to sit before their own open doors 
and hail the passers-by with news of the crops 
and the uneventful happenings that made up 
the interest of their lives. None of them had 
any interest beyond the wide circle within the 
misty hills. Few of them even knew any wider 
world than this quiet one that all could see, 
between the daily rising and setting of the sun. 
Most of them were born there where they lived, 
and were to die under the same greening roof- 
trees at the peaceful close of their useful, 
honored days. Surely, surely, it would seem 
that here — among people like these and lives 
like theirs — if anywhere in this strange world, 
there could be little reserve and no conceal- 
ment. Yet we all know that under another 
Law of Life there are moments in the sim- 
plest, openest lives when the most open-hearted 


13 


The Little Hills 


must shrink from the most tender-hearted. 
Each one of us, simple and subtle alike, has 
known some crucial moment when the soul 
must go alone into its own inner temple leaving 
the most loved and loving outside. 

And this moment had come now to poor little 
Phoebe for the first time in her confiding, trust- 
ing life. She did not know what it was but she 
felt the crisis. It was always her lot to feel 
many things that she never could comprehend. 
She knew only that she should not let any one 
tell her what to do now, that she would have 
to think and act for herself. That was what 
she was trying to do, but she was unused 
to thinking for herself and she was very tired 
and very, very much frightened. No wonder 
then that she drew still farther into the green 
dimness and put down an unsteady little hand 
to keep her black skirt from moving ever so 
slightly in the breeze. 

Would the sun never go down behind the 
hills ? Would the wan sunbeams never cease 
fluttering among the leaves and flowers ? 
Would the swallows never begin circling 
around the parsonage chimney ? With a sigh 
her wistful gaze wandered down and fell on 


14 


Phoebe 


one of the upper windows of the parsonage. A 
man was writing beside a table. She did not 
see his face — nor need to. It was the new min- 
ister. She knew his broad shoulders and looked 
away quickly. But not quite quickly enough 
to keep her heart from aching with the pain 
that most of us have felt on seeing a stranger 
in the place of a friend. Not yet could she 
calmly see John Wood in the place of William 
Rowan. In order not to see him again she got 
up hurriedly and walked to the other end of the 
porch. As she drew back the vines and looked 
far down the big road her heart seemed to give 
a leap and then fall back. For two ladies were 
coming straight toward her house, and she 
strained her eyes to see who they were. The 
road was overhung by the low branches of the 
trees that lined it and by the tall shrubs that 
bent over the bordering fences. But presently 
when they drew nearer and came into a clearer 
space, she saw that one was Mrs. Pottle and 
the other the widow Wall. Instantly she knew 
that they were on their way to see her and 
shuddered and shrunk back, knowing only too 
well what they were coming for. 

She turned and moved toward the open door 
15 


The Little Hills 


in haste that was almost flight. Again she felt 
her first impulse, to run away, to go inside and 
lock everybody out, barring even the back door. 
It was her own house and she lived alone. No 
one could come in if she should refuse to open 
the door. But on the threshold she paused 
and stood still. There was no use in trying to 
escape this last and worst ordeal. It could only 
be put off. She would be forced to meet it 
sooner or later. The latest could not be longer 
than the morrow. Her door must be opened 
early on the next morning to receive her guests. 
And so she went slowly back to her seat feeling 
almost relieved, as a child does when he sees 
punishment near and longs to get it over. But 
she could not help shrinking and quivering at 
the first murmur of their voices. For she knew 
what they were talking about though she could 
not hear the words. She could see them now 
quite distinctly and there was something so like 
them both in the very way they walked, that 
the shadow of a smile suddenly crossed her 
distressed face. There was even a quick, un- 
conscious flutter of dimples under the big tears 
rolling down her cheeks. 


i6 


II 

AN OFFICIAL VISIT 

Of course the squire’s lady led by a pace, 
laying down the law over her shoulder, while 
the widow Wall followed agreeing — till she 
got a chance to disagree. That is the way 
they had gone through life ever since they had 
started to the same school on the same day. 
For Mrs. Pottle often owned that they were 
about the same age, though she never failed 
to add that she hardly expected anybody to 
believe it. 

In truth nature as well as circumstances had 
given her the advantage. She was good-look- 
ing, large, strong, energetic, and with resolution 
in every line and movement of her powerful 
body. Her friend was far from good-looking, 
unreasonably tall, languid, thin, mild — as a 
rule — and limply irresolute even in the matter 
of a figure. Moreover to make the contrast 


17 


The Little Hills 


still greater just now, the breeze caught Mrs. 
Pottle’s skirts which seemed to be starched 
even more stiffly than usual, and blew them out 
till she looked a good deal larger than she 
really was. But there was no sort of uncer- 
tainty about the size of the place which she 
occupied in the community. That was much 
larger than any one else’s. Indeed it had been 
said that when she took cold the whole neigh- 
borhood sneezed. And if this was true it was 
little enough for the neighbors to do, in view 
of all that she was always doing for everybody, 
no matter whether anybody wanted her to do 
it or not. But unfortunately the public is not 
much more grateful for undesired kindness 
than the individual. So that many of this good 
woman’s unselfish and untiring efforts for the 
general welfare went unrewarded even by ap- 
preciation, and were often cruelly misunder- 
stood. The unkindest cuts of all had come 
from old Mrs. Crabtree who never cared what 
she said so long as the listeners laughed. For 
this game-making old lady was fully — and per- 
haps a little proudly — aware of the tradition 
that she was somewhat of a wit. And that is a 
reputation hard to keep up anywhere without 

i8 


An Official Visit 


unkindness. It must be whetted continually 
upon everything in reach if it be kept sharp, 
and no whetstone is so ready and handy as 
human nature. Here in this quiet place there 
was nothing whatever for old Mrs. Crabtree to 
whet hers on, except the simple neighbors and 
their quaint ways. Mrs. Pottle merely suffered 
with the rest but rather more frequently be- 
cause she had no saving sense of humor, which 
might sometimes have withheld temptation from 
this heartless game-maker. She used often to 
say to the widow Wall, almost with tears in her 
eyes, that no tongue ever could tell all that she 
had put up with from old Mrs. Crabtree, solely 
for Phoebe’s sake. 

“ Ten to one but she’s already backed her 
up in this very thing, just to make it harder 
for me,” said Mrs. Pottle, over her shoulder. 
“For you know — as well as I do, Jane — that 
she don’t really care one mite what Phoebe or 
anybody does unless it’s something to laugh 
at and make fun of.” 

There was no reply from the widow Wall. 
None was needed or expected. Her mere 
presence was all that her self-reliant friend re- 
quired. A born leader like Mrs. Pottle must 


19 


The Little Hills 


have a follower, an admiring and applauding 
one if possible, and the fewer opinions that 
follower has of her own the better. This 
humble soul though not very quick-witted, 
had long ago found out the fact, and of late 
years it was only by queer fits and starts that 
she ventured to assert herself. As far back 
as she could remember she had given up to 
Mandy Pottle. With a weak nature the force 
of habit is stronger in the long run than incli- 
nation. Then in this case submission had its 
substantial rewards. The squire was the rich- 
est man in the whole country, and his wife was 
most generous to those who did what she 
wished them to do. And the widow Wall was 
doing it now as nearly as she could by go- 
ing with her “ to save Phoebe at the eleventh 
hour,” as Mrs. Pottle had said in a solemn 
whisper. This happened to be one of the few 
matters in which the widow Wall really did 
agree with her friend. It must be admitted 
that she never would have thought of going, 
of taking any active measures, or indeed, of 
doing anything at all. But she was quite 
willing to go when Mrs. Pottle asked her to, 
and so it was that they were now on their way. 


20 


An Official Visit 


The usually serious state of Mrs. Pottle’s mind 
grew more serious with every step, and the 
ordinarily severe expression of her honest face, 
had never been more severe than it was when 
they reached Phoebe’s front gate. 

A single glimpse of its grim ness made her 
heavy heart sink still lower, but she went to meet 
them with such courage as was hers to muster. 
She shook hands and managed to murmur 
something about its being cooler on the porch. 
The ladies sat down in the chairs that she 
placed for them in the coolest spot beneath 
the vines. The next step according to polite 
custom was to invite them to take off their 
bonnets. But as she moved mechanically to 
give the customary invitation she suddenly 
noticed that they were both wearing sun- 
bonnets, and the fact meant so much that she 
shrunk back and stood still, trembling and afraid 
to speak or move. 

For these ladies were by birth and breeding 
of the highest social position, notwithstanding 
that the widow Wall was too poor to be a 
leader of fashion, and the squire’s lady much 
too busy with the public welfare. Consequently 
both of them had what they called dress-bonnets 


The Little Hills 


for wear upon proper and pleasant occasions, 
as all ladies of standing then had in that coun- 
try. The squire’s wife always wore a handsome 
beaver in the winter and an elegant leghorn in 
the summer, those being the finest and most 
modish materials that she knew anything about. 
The widow Wall on the other hand always 
wore the leghorn in winter and the beaver in 
summer, not because she preferred them out 
of season, but because she got them when her 
friend was done with them and gave them to 
her. Their sunbonnets and those of the other 
leading ladies, were never worn outside their 
own yards, except under certain circumstances 
always more or less deplorable. They were 
worn frequently to funerals, and the wearing of 
them then was meant and taken as a subtle 
expression of sympathy quite beyond all con- 
sideration of appearances. Also they were 
occasionally worn on visits to the sick, but 
only when the whole family already knew how 
hopeless the case was. These were the sole 
exceptions, and no lady of the least social im- 
portance ever thought of such a thing as 
appearing on the big road in her sunbonnet 
unless something equally sad was happening. 


22 


An Official .Visit 


had happened or was about to happen. This 
was all well known to Phoebe and the first 
sight of the sunbonnets would have alarmed 
her, had she not been too much agitated to 
notice them. It was no wonder then that she 
now stood helpless and dumb, almost frozen 
with fright. 

But the widow Wall always an easy-going 
soul and rather absent-minded, was warm from 
walking and did not remember to wait for the 
invitation. She took off her sunbonnet at 
once without any sort of ceremony. And now 
gathering the crumpled crown in her thin hand, 
she began to fan herself with the flapping brim, 
as she swung comfortably back and forth in 
the low rocking-chair. Then she forgot again, 
and turning her kind face toward the garden, 
over which the scented breeze was blowing, 
she spoke with a smile: 

“ My ! How sweet the borders do smell this 
evening. And the dew hasn’t begun to fall 
yet, either,” taking a deep breath. “Spice- 
pinks surely are the sweetest things that blow 
— and the liveliest.” 

“ They seem so to me too,” said Phoebe, 
quickly, eager to follow any topic that led away 

23 


The Little Hills 


from the one she feared. “ It does seem as if 
the scent had wings and flew about with the 
birds. Sometimes when it hovers around — 
real close and friendly — as it has done to- 
day — ” 

She broke off suddenly and turned with a 
start to look at Mrs. Pottle. The widow Wall 
also turned and looked, sitting up very straight 
and holding her bonnet quite still and as stiff 
as its lack of starch would allow. For both of 
them understood that severe clearing of Mrs. 
Pottle’s throat. They knew that it meant dis- 
approval when it did not mean displeasure. 
And they took it now as a stern rebuke, re- 
minding them that this was no fit time for idle 
talk about flowers or any other trivial matters. 

That clearing of Mrs. Pottle’s throat always 
awed the widow Wall into silence as it did 
many others much less timid than she was. 
And it told Phoebe that there was no hope be- 
yond a momentary delay. For a moment she 
hesitated in alarmed confusion, and then she 
remembered the fresh water which was always 
offered to visitors. That would serve to stave 
off the dreaded moment for a few minutes 
longer, and so murmuring an apology she ran 
24 


An Official Visit 


out to the well. Not a word was spoken while 
the long well-sweep swept down very slowly, 
and crept up again more slowly still with its 
plaintive, complaining sound. And neither of 
the visitors said anything except to murmur 
thanks when the crystal drink was fetched, 
dripping from the cool mossy bucket. But they 
both took a delicate sip — though they were 
not in the least thirsty — as politeness required 
of them in turn. Then the widow Wall set 
the glass back on the waiter which Phoebe held 
without looking up. And Mrs. Pottle also was 
careful when doing the same, not to let her own 
keen gray eyes meet the soft brown ones which 
were seeking them in mute entreaty. She had 
met that gaze of Phoebe’s ere this and had 
been disarmed by it, when she had been almost 
as clear and firm in her duty as she was now. 
Bearing this in mind she did not look at 
Phoebe at all but instead looked straight and 
hard at the widow Wall, much to the discomfort 
of that mild lady who suddenly and hastily put on 
her sunbonnet — tying it tight under her pointed 
chin — as she now noticed with much embarrass- 
ment that Mrs. Pottle had not taken off hers. 

For the taking off and the keeping on of 

25 


The Little Hills 


Mrs. Pottle’s sunbonnet always let everybody 
know exactly what to expect. Perhaps its 
being so large and so white and so stiff may 
have had a good deal to do with its being so 
well understood by so many people for so many 
years. It certainly seems unlikely that any 
sunbonnet which was small and dingy and 
limp — like the widow Wall’s for instance — 
ever could have ruled an entire community as 
Mrs. Pottle’s large, white, stiff one did. At all 
events there was’ not a woman and hardly a 
man or child within its radius, but knew that 
when it came off there was still hope of its 
wearer’s being coaxed and possibly dissuaded ; 
that when it stayed on the situation was hope- 
less because its wearer was out in a strictly 
official capacity and not to be turned by her 
own or anybody else’s feelings, from saying and 
doing what she conscientiously believed should 
be said and done. It was knowing this that 
now made Phoebe turn with a helpless, resigned 
sigh and go to the farthest seat and sit down, 
clasping her small brown hands to keep them 
from trembling so much. 

“Well, Phoebe Rowan!'''' Mrs. Pottle de- 
manded sternly forthwith without any beating 
26 


An Official Visit 

about, though still looking hard at the widow 
Wall. 

The beginning was even worse than Phoebe’s 
fears. She had never been called by her sur- 
name except to be scolded which was rarely 
for she had never before gone counter to any 
one’s wishes, and was much loved. Then she 
was not used to hearing her new name which 
had been hers only a few weeks. At the 
strange sound of it her face flushed and her 
heart beat faster. But the flush was not a 
bride’s happy blush and she could not have 
told whether the quickened beating of her 
heart came from pleasure or pain. Poor little 
Phoebe ! The memory of her marriage and 
all concerning it was like some troubled dream 
that she could not recall distinctly. She had 
been trying hard ever since to see clearly 
but the harder she tried the more unreal every- 
thing seemed. And so not knowing what to 
say she waited in quivering silence, pleading 
only with her troubled eyes, for Mrs. Pottle’s 
tone had been a question and even an arraign- 
ment. 

But that determined lady was much too 
intent to wait for an answer and went on 


27 


The Little Hills 


without moving her stern gaze from the widow 
Wall’s uneasy face. “ Now, Phoebe, you know 
what I’ve come for quite as well as I do. And 
it will save trouble for you and me and every- 
body, if you will just speak out quickly and 
plainly and tell me the truth — right off the 
reel. There’s no sense in any kind of shilly- 
shally, nor a bit of use either, for I mean 
to know. Now then ! Is it true that you 
have written inviting that whole Rowan tribe 
to come here and live with you — on the little 
you’ve got in this old shell of a house ? ” 

Phoebe hung her head in silence. She had 
nothing to say, no excuse to give nor even 
any explanation. 

“ Then it is true ! ” Mrs. Pottle accused. 

The widow Wall sighed uneasily. It dis- 
tressed her to see any one in trouble. Then 
she was uncomfortable herself being stared 
at so. 

“ Don’t bother, Jane,” said Mrs. Pottle, 
sharply. “ And you’ve asked all of ’em,” she 
added, speaking to Phoebe but looking harder 
than ever at the widow Wall. 

“ There are only two of them,” pleaded 
Phoebe. 


28 


An Official Visit 


“ Only two indeed ! ” repeated Mrs. Pottle, 
tartly. “ And pray who are they ? ” 

“Just his father and his wife,” Phoebe 
faltered. 

“ Whose wife ? ” demanded Mrs. Pottle. 

father’s, William’s stepmother,” said 
Phoebe faintly, growing more nervous and 
frightened with every word. 

“ Land o’ the living ! ” cried Mrs. Pottle. 
“Just listen to that, Jane Wall — if you please.” 
She stared blankly for a moment doubting if 
she had heard aright. Then she went on : 
“ And you’ve asked this old w^oman to come 
and live with you — when you’ve never laid eyes 
on her, don’t know the first thing about her, 
and she isn’t even your husband’s mother.” 

“ She was just as kind to him as if she 
had been,” Phoebe forced herself to say, 
though she could not lift her brimming eyes. 

“He told me so over and over that’s 

the reason.” 

“ Her husband’s stepmother,” almost screamed 
Mrs. Pottle. “ A j'/^mother-in-law! Now I 
ask you again, Jane Wall — on your word of 
honor as a lady, if you ever heard of such a 
thing in all your born days.?^” 


29 


The Little Hills 


“No, I never retorted the widow Wall, with 
a sudden scared flash of spirit. “ And what’s 
more, it ain’t my fault and you needn’t look 
at me like that, either.” 

There was no sign that Mrs. Pottle heard 
though her gaze never once flickered. But 
when she spoke again after a moment’s silence, 
it was with some little gentleness and patience. 
Perhaps she had seen how Phoebe was trem- 
bling though she tried her very best not to 
see. 

“ It would have been better if I had come 
sooner, as I thought of doing. The only 
reason I didn’t was because it was my duty 
to give that aunt of yours one more chance 
to do hers. Of course I knew she wouldn’t — 
no matter how much time she had. But her 
not doing her duty is no excuse for my not 
doing mine. That’s why I waited till she 
had gone home.” 

At this she caught a sly twinkle in the 
widow Wall’s eye and stiffened with indigna- 
tion. But she did not deign to notice it by 
a word, and went on with a visible effort keep- 
ing to her tone of judicial calmness. 

“And I certainly ought to have known just 
30 


An Official Visit 


how she would do after all the tussles I’ve had 
with her all these years, trying to make her 
see what she owed you. And I shan’t forget 
the sort of thanks I got, either ; ” tightening 
her lips and looking still more severely at the 
widow Wall. “ But as I was saying — her not 
doing her duty then was no more excuse for 
my neglecting mine than it is now, — as I told 
her right to her face when she let you leave 
school to nurse your uncle, instead of doing it 
herself for her own brother, or having her 
daughter do it. Anne was through school — 
goodness knows.” 

Phoebe tried to say that she would never 
have been willing to let any one else nurse 
her uncle. She also strove to say that she 
was fond of her aunt who had always been 
most kind, but there was a moment’s pause 
while she mustered courage to speak. 

The widow Wall broke in excitedly and with 
a good deal of feeling : “For my part it always 
seems to me that Anne Crabtree is more to be 
pitied than blamed, poor down-trodden thing 
that’s never been allowed to say her soul was 
her own. . There’s more people, too — that 
would keep other folks from saying so if they 

31 


The Little Hills 


could, — - people a-plenty that would make other 
folks live like toads under a harrow. And I’m 
never going to sit by and hear poor Anne 
blamed for what she can’t help. No, I’m 
not — no matter what happens. So there ! ” 

“ Really, Jane,” said Mrs. Pottle, icily. “ I 
should be greatly obliged if you would not 
interrupt me. You have put what I was going 
to say clean out of my head. Oh — yes — I 
remember.” 

Then without once glancing at Phoebe whose 
welfare she had most sincerely at heart, and 
without the slightest doubt of being able to 
manage and settle the whole affair, as she had 
managed and settled the affairs of the neigh- 
borhood for many years, she took everything 
into her own ready and capable hands. She 
began by declaring the plan to be utterly im- 
practicable and went into details to prove what 
she said. It was easy to do this, knowing every 
penny that Phoebe had, and where it came from 
and how it was spent. For all the neighbors 
knew all about each other’s concerns and could 
not have helped knowing had they wished to 
do so. Indeed most of them would have 
thought it most un-neighborly — positively un- 


32 


An , Official Visit 


Christian — to shirk such knowledge. Mrs. 
Pottle by virtue of her position as public guar- 
dian felt this even more strongly than the rest, 
especially when it concerned Phoebe whom she 
loved in much the same fussy, over-bearing 
way that she would have loved a daughter. 
The sad plight of her favorite suddenly fired 
all her old smouldering resentment against Mrs. 
Crabtree. Looking over the situation she saw 
plainly that it was the aunt who had been to 
blame from first to last. Phoebe had always 
been neglected, even in early childhood, but for 
what she herself could do. Turning back to a 
bitter day in midwinter she recalled catching 
a glimpse of the child flying down the big road 
after a mover’s wagon, bare foot and bare head, 
with her brown curls blowing in the freezing 
wind, holding her little woollen hood in one 
hand and her shoes and stockings in the other. 
And there sat her aunt by the front window 
looking on without raising a finger to stop her, 
not saying a word, only smiling and clapping 
her hands as the little figure flew by, as much 
as to say: “ Clip it, Phoebe. Clip it — for Mrs. 
Pottle’s after you.” And the little bare feet 
had clipped it so fast that she had not been 
D 33 


The Little Hills 


able to overtake her in time to prevent the 
giving of the things to a shivering child in 
the wagon. But it was some satisfaction to 
remember — thinking of it now — that she had 
shaken her well right there in the middle of 
the big road under her aunt’s very nose. Yes, 
she had always done what she could for the 
soft, foolish little thing. Her conscience was 
quite clear. Nevertheless it was a wonder that 
a child thus left to run wild ever should have 
lived to be grown, not any wonder that the 
same impulsive, unreasoning, misguided sym- 
pathy and generosity should have brought her 
to the present strait. 

“Your wanting to do this wouldn’t be so 
utterly out of the question if these old folks 
didn’t have anybody of their own to take care 
of them,” Mrs. Pottle granted. “ But the old 
lady has a daughter — well married too with a 
good home and husband — ” 

“ That’s the very reason,” said Phoebe, eagerly. 
The sudden sound of her own unsteady voice 
frightened her, but she bravely kept on with 
what she felt bound in justice to say : “ Mother 
Rowan’s daughter has written me a beautiful let- 
ter. I should like you to read it because it makes 


34 


An Official Visit 

everything so clear. It says — so beautifully — 
how dearly she would love to have her mother 
come and live with her, that it is hard to get her 
own consent to let her live with any one else. 
But she can’t do as she would like because her 
husband isn’t willing for her to ask Father 
Rowan — who isn’t any real kin, — and she 
thinks it would be wicked to part the old people.” 

“ Does she, indeed ! ” cried Mrs. Pottle, sar- 
castically. “ She’s mighty high-minded to be 
sure. And so that's the way she has managed 
•to shift her own burden to your shoulders! 
Well, I shall make it my business to see that 
it is shifted back again where it belongs. And 
I will do it this very night too — or know the 
reason why. Just as soon as the squire comes 
home to supper I shall ask him to write a letter 
that will settle the whole bother. Being a 
squire he knows how to lay down the law — 
I’m bound to say that much for him.” 

“No, no — please don’t,” entreated Phcebe. 
“ I want them — ” 

“ Now, just listen to me fora moment, child,” 
Mrs. Pottle said almost gently; “you surely 
know by this time that I’ve only your good at 
heart.” 


35 


The Little Hills 


“ Indeed — indeed I do,” cried Phcebe look- 
ing up wistfully. 

“Well, then you can’t suppose that I am 
going to allow you to saddle yourself with such 
an unheard-of burden as this,” said Mrs. Pottle. 
“ My conscience won’t let me. I’m bound to in- 
terfere — since that aunt of yours won’t. What- 
ever she may do or not do, I am never going 
to sit still with my hands on my lap and let 
you saddle yourself for life with this preposter- 
ous load. And so once for all I tell you again 
that it is utterly out of the question, and will 
prove it to you. Even if the burden were right- 
fully yours — which it isn’t — you could not do 
what you are thinking of. In the first place 
you haven’t the room. There is only one bed- 
room in this little house, and you need that 
for yourself. In the second place you haven’t 
the means. It it just as much as you can do to 
get along without any one else. In the third — ” 

“Oh — yes, indeed there is plenty of room,” 
cried Phoebe so eager to seize this first chance 
to discuss the plan as a bare possibility, that 
she forgot to be afraid. “ They are to have my 
room and I am to sleep in the shed-room. 
There isn’t even any need to put a cot in the 
36 


An Official Visit 


parlor. I thought out that, just now — and so 
nearly everything is settled.” 

“ Well, ’pon my word!” exclaimed Mrs. Pottle, 
provoked out of the judicial calmness that she 
had striven to maintain. “And so you have 
been sitting there settling it have you ? while I 
have been talking and trying my best to keep 
your silly head out of a noose. I do think in 
my heart, Phoebe, that you are certainly the 
most aggravating creature alive. You never 
talk back and never dispute and never even 
argue. You just sit there with your big eyes 
wide open looking as if you didn’t know your 
own mind — and the whole time you have no 
more idea of giving up than flying.” 

She paused for lack of words to express the 
righteous indignation that she felt, and turning 
suddenly looked at Phoebe for the first time. 
There was something in the sweet downcast 
face, and in the dispirited droop of the little 
black-clad figure that touched her. Accordingly 
she hastily turned her gaze upon the widow Wall 
once more, and with increased severity because 
she must go on scolding Phoebe. 

“Sometimes the mild, silent way you hold 
to what you mean to do makes me think of the 
37 


The Little Hills 


gossamer that perplexes and vexes me so among 
my roses. It is so fine that I can scarcely see 
it and so soft that I can barely feel it. I can’t 
even get hold of it to break it or pull it off — 
and there it stays too — no matter what I do.” 

Phoebe looked up shyly with a confused 
smile not quite sure whether she was still 
being scolded or not, and then she exchanged 
a friendly glance with the widow Wall. 

Seeing this glance Mrs. Pottle felt the neces- 
sity of greater firmness on her own part. 
“ There’s no use in bandying any more words,” 
she said conclusively. “ The squire shall write 
that letter this very night — and that’s all there 
is about it.” 

“ No,” said Phoebe, with a new note of firm-' 
ness in her gentle tones. “ He must not write 
— you must not ask him to. Nobody must 
interfere. I — I must not allow it. Then — 
they are already on the way. They will be here 
to-morrow morning in the stage.” 

For a moment surprise and anger held Mrs. 
Pottle silent, then she said: “Well, they can 
go back again — after they have had a little 
visit — and it needn’t be a long one either as I 
soon shall give them to understand.” 

38 


An Official Visit 


Phoebe arose very slowly and stood very 
straight and although her soft voice trembled 
it did not break. “ No, you must not say 
or even hint anything of the kind. No one 
ever shall wound their feelings by word or 
look. They are not coming to make a visit. 
They are coming to live with me. This is to 
be their home as long as they live — or wish to 
stay — just as much their home hereafter as 
mine.” 

At these words Mrs. Pottle also arose. She 
was more deeply offended than she would have 
thought it possible that she ever could be with 
Phoebe. And then she was more completely 
defeated than she had ever been before in all 
her well-meant interference with the affairs of 
the whole neighborhood. 

“Very well — then there’s nothing more for 
me to say,” she said stiffly. “ After this I can 
go with a clear conscience. Nothing that 
happens can be laid at my door. But you 
needn’t look to me for help no matter what 
comes. And after all this isn’t the fault of that 
aunt of yours. For you have deliberately 
brought the whole trouble on yourself and you 
can’t deny it. It’s bad enough to be a widow 


39 


The Little Hills 


when a body can’t help it, but to go and be one 
on purpose, as you’ve done — ” 

“ Well, I must say you are not very polite, 
Mandy Pottle ! ” cried the widow Wall, flaring 
up. “ I should just like to know what you 
mean by that. Bad enough to be a widow, 
indeed ! I can let you know that in all these 
many years that Fve been a widow, this is the 
very first time that my being one has ever been 
thrown up to me'' The words ended in a burst 
of tears. 

“ Pooh ! ” said Mrs. Pottle not unkindly. 

“ Come along, Jane. Don’t be silly. Let’s be 
going home. There is nothing here to stay 
for. I don’t feel bound by my conscience to 
allow myself to be treated with any more 
disrespect.” | 

Phoebe ran to her and clung round her beg- | 
ging to be forgiven. “ Please — please — don’t 
go, dear Mrs. Pottle, for you know I love you. t 
I can’t bear your going away angry with me. 
Forgive me. You have always been so kind *! 
— so good. I can’t remember when you were !. 
not. Don’t you see that I can’t do anything \ 
else — in this. Indeed, indeed I can’t. I must i 
at least try to do what I think is right — or my I 


40 


An Official Visit 


heart will break. Won’t you help me.? You 
have never yet refused.” 

Under the little clinging, trembling hands, 
the soft words, the sweet looks and the mist of 
tears in the brown eyes, Mrs. Pottle’s anger 
was melting as fast as a flurry of snow under 
warm sunshine. But feeling that she could 
not in dignity allow the air to clear quite so 
quickly, she turned sharply to ask the widow 
Wall if she had the remotest notion what she 
was crying about. Yet while speaking she was 
carefully straightening that aggrieved lady’s 
sunbonnet with a tenderness which was taken 
as the ample apology it was meant to be. The 
widow Wall accordingly dried her eyes and 
the two ladies then bade Phcebe good night. 
There was a lingering touch of reserve in Mrs. 
Pottle’s manner but not a trace of resentment. 
And Phoebe sighed with relief when they set 
out down the big road through the gathering 
dusk. The worst was over now. 


41 


Ill 

PHCEBE’S PLIGHT 

Her heart sprang up at once as it always 
did with the removal of any weight. There 
was nothing more to dread — only ways and 
means to think of. And the greatest difficulty 
was already overcome. She had found a way 
to give the old people the only bedroom she 
had. At first it had seemed as if she would 
have to put them in the parlor to sleep, or set 
her own cot behind the screen as she had done 
for a long time during her uncle’s illness. She 
would gladly have given them the parlor, had 
it been as comfortable as the bedroom, and she 
would willingly have slept there herself. But 
in either case there must have been risk of 
their noticing the makeshift and so being 
made to feel that the house was too full. That 
would have grieved her and it was a great 
relief to have this most important point well 


42 


Phoebe’s Plight 

settled. It was pretty to see how her clouded 
face brightened at the thought. Yes, they 
could have the best room in the house — the 
only bedroom — without a sign of crowding, 
since she had been able to squeeze her own 
little bed into the small shed-room on the end 
of the porch. She would never have believed 
it could be done, if she had not happened to 
think of measuring the space with a ribbon 
just the length of the bed, and so found it 
exactly long enough. She fairly beamed think- 
ing of it now. Then how lucky that the house- 
wrens had reared their brood and flown away ! 
They had built in a deserted wasp’s nest which 
she had found and hung up inside the shed- 
room window because she thought it pretty, 
without knowing that it was like an old ivory 
carving. And Jenny Wren had not minded 
her coming as often as two or three times a 
day on tiptoe to take a smiling peep. She 
had never ruffled a brown feather — merely 
holding her pretty brown head on one side, 
and looking down with her bright brown eyes 
— very much as Phoebe held hers looking up 
with her soft brown ones. But visiting and 
living together are entirely different things — 


43 


The Little Hills 


as some of us learn too late, — and Phoebe 
thought it just as well that Jenny had no 
further use for the shed-room. 

It was really a nice little room as she said 
to herself happily planning this and that. The 
walls had been whitewashed till they were like 
the driven snow. There was space for a 
little table and a chair. She forgot that the 
chair would have to be set out on the porch 
whenever the door was open. What matter — 
what more could any one want ! The muslin 
curtains were nearly as white as the narrow 
bed — all so fresh and sweet. Then roses 
were blooming around the window so close 
that they might perhaps awaken her — when 
the wind of the dawn swayed them — by 
sprinkling dew-drops in her face. She was 
full of innocent fancies as the gentle lonely are 
apt to be. And she loved her flowers as a 
nature so loving as hers must love insensate 
things when it has nothing of its very own — 
not one human creature — better worthy of 
love. She was especially fond of the spice- 
pinks and it was pleasant to know that they 
need not be taken up till they were quite done 
blooming. After their first fullness it would 


44 


Phoebe's Plight 

then be early enough to plant late vegetables. 
Yet she sighed almost in the same breath, 
knowing that she must give them up sooner 
or later, because there would be need of more 
room for vegetables now that her family was 
larger. She could only hope that the old 
gentleman and the old lady did like vegetables. 
Suppose they did not ! What if they should 
require things — many things — that she could 
not get for them. For a moment her heart 
which had grown tranquil throbbed again with 
fresh alarm. If only she knew something 
about them and had ever so slight an acquaint- 
ance with their likes and dislikes ! Then she 
put the fear behind her, turning quickly back 
to her serene trust that all would be well. 
Calmly she went on thinking and planning. 
But it is hard to think steadily, to hold our 
thoughts in one direction when the mind is 
weary and the heart heavy. Her thoughts 
would wander backward in spite of all she 
could do. She still tried to send them for- 
ward but instead they again turned back, 
straying farther and farther till they wandered 
lost in the past. 

The memories that thronged first were not 


45 


The Little Hills 


very sad and she could scarcely have told why 
her eyes slowly filled with painless tears. 
Maybe it was the wailing cry of the whip- 
poor-will — uneasy wraith of music — coming 
from the dim willows that murmured with the 
little brook through the shadowed meadow. 
Maybe it was the wistful gleam of the fireflies 
— uncertain as life’s bright gleams — glimmer- 
ing amid the gray mists that drifted over the 
darkened fields. Or maybe it was some simple 
home sound that the soft wind brought from 
the drowsy households. For nothing can ever 
be sadder or sweeter than these home sounds 
heard at nightfall by the homeless and the 
lonely. 

But Phoebe was neither of these. This small 
house which had been her uncle’s home had 
been hers also, far longer than she could re- 
member. On his death more than a year 
before it had become her own with all its roses i 
and honeysuckles and its sweet old garden. i 
As for being lonely, she was tTsed to that, and ! 
was not more so now than she had been ever | 
since she could recollect. Living alone with \ 
her uncle who had been an invalid for years, j 
she had never had time to think of loneliness I 
46 I 


Phoebe’s Plight 

nor, indeed, of herself at all. She knew nothing 
about hiring a stranger to do what she did for 
him or any part of it. The very thought of 
such a thing would have shocked and distressed 
her as heartless neglect of a natural duty. And 
so it seems to a good many old-fashioned peo- 
ple living to-day where she lived more than a 
half century ago. Beginning as a child she 
had gone on doing her best till she had reached 
girlhood and passed into womanhood, giving 
her whole life to the care of her uncle so that 
she had not known at first what to do when 
he died. For the heaviest burden may grow 
so gradually and be borne so long, that the 
bearer hardly knows how to live without it. 
Those of us who have faithfully bent our 
shoulders should know how Phoebe felt — how 
utterly at a loss and how restlessly unhappy 
she had been — when hers was lifted at last. 
If we have been faithful and loving in bearing 
our own burdens we must know how hard it 
was at first for her to sit idle for an instant 
without feeling that she was neglecting some- 
thing that should be done. If truly faithful 
and loving in long service we know that many 
sad nights must have gone by before Phoebe 
47 


The Little Hills 


could sleep one night through without starting 
up again and again, fearful that she had slept 
too long leaving urgent duties undone. Ah ! 
that half-awakened springing to the tired feet : 
that hurried, remorseful beating of the bur- 
dened heart ! Yes, the most faithful and loving 
among us can well believe that poor little 
Phoebe, alone in that desolate house, awoke 
more than once to find herself bending over 
the empty bed, so white in the moonlight, so 
smooth and so cold. 

No wonder then that she had been quick 
and eager to help when William Rowan, the 
minister, and her nearest neighbor living in 
the parsonage just across the big road, needed 
nursing. He had fallen ill almost immediately 
after coming to take charge of the church. In 
truth he had been ill for years before but did 
not know it, because his illness was the one 
which — mercifully — the afflicted are always 
the last to know. And there had been no out- 
ward sign of the disease then, at least nobody 
noticed any. His trial sermon was a good one 
and there was only one dissenting voice when 
he was called. Mrs. Pottle alone objected and 
she did so on another score than his health. 

48 


Phoebe’s Plight 

She had said quite openly — as indeed she 
always did everything — that it was tempting 
providence to call a preacher who had no wife ; 
trouble was sure to come of it sooner or later. 
And although she had consented at last — that 
of course since there could have been no call- 
ing of any minister without her consent — she 
had not changed her opinion. Naturally then 
when William Rowan became ill almost imme- 
diately with nobody to take care of him, she 
spoke of the timely warning that she had given. 
But she did not let him hear and she was 
among the first to come to his relief. Indeed 
the whole community, everybody in the church 
and out of it, had vied with one another in kind- 
ness to the stricken stranger. But Phoebe had 
done more than all the rest put together. All 
the ladies, even the squire’s wife, had willingly 
given way to her with kind looks that she did 
not see, saying out of her hearing that perhaps 
she would not be so lost without her uncle, now 
that she had some one else to nurse. 

And so it had begun. Not many days had 
passed before William Rowan could tell her 
light, swift footsteps from all the others that 
hastened to serve him. His sunken eyes soon 


49 


The Little Hills 


followed her trim little figure as it moved 
softly about the shadowed room, and some- 
times he almost forgot the pain in smiling at 
the deftness of her noiseless little hands. She 
saw that he liked her best, that he wanted her 
beside him constantly. And seeing it made 
her feel still more sorry that she could not like 
him better that she could only pity him with 
all her tender heart. It seemed to her almost 
wicked not to like your own minister, and yet 
she knew that she never would have liked 
William Rowan at all had he been well. 
Then — remembering that he never could be 
— her soft heart smote her so that she grew 
very tender toward him; more tender than 
she knew or meant. So that one day when 
they were left alone together, he took her 
hand which was smoothing his pillow, and told 
her that he loved her and asked her to marry 
him just as soon as he should be “ well and 
strong ” — poor fellow. Poor, poor fellow ! 

She had not been able to help shrinking, the 
shock was too great. But she had made no 
effort to take away her hand — his was so 
weak that she had not the heart. It was all 
so heartrending that she hardly could bear 
50 


Phoebe’s Plight 

it. At the sound of a coming step he let her 
go and she turned hastily to the window, thus 
hiding her tears till there was a chance to 
slip out of the chamber unseen. 

This was in midwinter. Phoebe had not 
gone to the parsonage on the next morning, 
staying away for the first time. She sat 
hidden behind the window curtains sadly 
looking across the frozen big road, wondering 
what she should do. It was a gray day with 
a bitter wind driving the huddled clouds over 
the bleak fields of the sky like frightened 
sheep, and tossing their torn fleeces down to 
the bleaker earth. Life itself seemed grayest 
and bleakest of all. Her breast was aching 
with remorse for what she could not help. 
To think that in trying to relieve his suffering 
she had added a pang to what he already had 
to bear. Yet in this she was as helpless as he. 
Love does not come at will — nor go — even 
when pity calls and duty drives. She would 
have loved him if she could and she did try, 
— tried hard — while she shrank and shivered, 
looking piteously at his window till she was 
blinded by tears. For she wanted love as 
much as he. It was almost a relief to see 


51 


The Little Hills 


Mrs. Pottle coming to ask why she was not 
at her post and she had gone back to it be- 
cause there was nothing else to do. When 
she had seen the havoc wrought in his stricken 
face by the night’s misery, she prayed to be 
forgiven for not coming more quickly. 

For a while afterward all had gone on as 
before except that Phoebe took care — feeling 
cruel and guilty — never to be left alone with 
him. But as the days and weeks had dragged 
by she had gradually ceased to fear. Now and 
then he had spoken of love and she had lis- 
tened without fear. His voice was so weak 
that it was like listening to a spirit and he 
said nothing more of marriage, nothing more 
of getting well. He seemed to be at peace 
except for his anxiety about his father and 
mother. An accident to his father had pre- 
vented their coming with him and still kept 
them from his bedside. 

“ It was all arranged,” he had said miser- 
ably again one morning in early spring. “ My 
mother was to keep house for me here in the 
parsonage. She has always been so kind that 
I don’t like to call her my stepmother. And I 
had written her there was plenty of room. She 
52 


Phoebe’s Plight 

is getting old now — it’s my time to take care 
of her and I felt so glad and proud. Father 
isn’t — he can’t — I don’t know what they will 
do — ” then he turned his head restlessly more 
than once before murmuring that the Lord 
would provide. When he had found breath 
again after coughing he gasped that he must 
make haste and get well and strong. 

“ Y es, you must make haste and get well and 
strong,” repeated Phoebe as steadily as she 
could. 

And the widow Wall had turned quickly 
from the front window, where she sat hemming 
the fine sheets that old Mrs. Crabtree had sent 
for his bed, saying that of course he would soon 
be well now with spring almost come. Why, 
it was fully a month since the first bluebirds 
had begun warbling, and every sunny spot and 
all the sheltered nooks were already full of 
wild flowers. 

“See these earliest ones in this tumbler — 
these fragile little ladies in their thin white 
frocks striped with pink — the fairies among 
the flowers,” said Phoebe, trying to make him 
smile. 

But when the shy wild flowers had given 
53 


The Little Hills 


place to the first proud roses ; when the blue- 
birds were so many that the blue sky seemed 
bluer with their wings ; when the rosy clover 
fields were alive with singing larks, William 
Rowan was still farther from being well and 
strong. He could not even lift his head to 
look out at the growing beauty of the green- 
ing, blossoming earth. The utmost that he 
could do was to turn his wasted face toward 
the flowering locust tree which waved long, 
white banners of fragrance before his open 
window. 

And when it had come to this, Phoebe felt 
that her heart would surely break with pure 
compassion. It would have been less hard 
for her to see him as he was now if she could 
have loved him, for then she might have served 
him, as the others did, without self-reproach. 
A pang smote her whenever her sad eyes met 
his. If there were but something that she 
could do to ease that remorseful aching in her 
breast. At last when she could bear^ it no 
longer she had broken down and told him how 
she felt. They were alone and the quiet room 
was dim with gathering dusk, and sweet with 
the scent of the locust bloom. Phoebe looking 


54 


Phoebe’s Plight 

at him through a mist of tears had tried to 
see if he knew how near the end was. 

He had smiled at her : “ Dear one ! Loving 
you has been the one bright spot — the only 
happiness I could have had. It is all better — 
far better as it is — and I shall not struggle 
any more. For a long time it has been only 
for the sake of my father and mother. If I 
might know that they will not want — ” then 
he waited for breath to go on again. 

A sudden thought lit Phoebe’s pale face: 
“ Leave them to me,” she whispered impetu- 
ously. “ I haven’t anybody of my own in the 
whole world. If you could think me worthy 
of the trust — it would take some of this pain 
out of my heart — and give me something to 
live for.” 

He shook his head gently and when he 
could speak — a word at a time — he said that 
his mother was very proud, of a most independ- 
ent spirit. She could never be happy depend- 
ent upon any one. Through a hard life she 
had kept her independence — by the toil of her 
own hands — owing no one anything. With 
him it was different, he was like her own son. 
And there might have been a difference with 
55 


The Little Hills 


Phoebe too if — if there had been any real 
claim — to justify — to reconcile his mother’s 
pride. Something like this he had said very 
slowly and softly. Phoebe could not recall 
the faint words quite distinctly. And all that 
came after was always confused in her mem- 
ory. She remembered only offering to marry 
him then — at once — that very moment if 
that could give her the right to do what 
would bring him perfect peace. It always 
seemed to her that he tried to protest, saying 
that pity must not claim what love had lost. 
Whenever she strove to bring back that hour 
— she seemed to hear that. But she was never 
quite sure remembering only the hasty fetch- 
ing of the nearest preacher, recalling dimly 
that some one made some attempt to prevent 
what was going forward, the startled coming 
in of the neighbors, their awed, excited whis- 
pering. Sometimes it seemed to her that the 
room had been full of hushed sobbing but she 
herself had not wept. The only thing that 
she ever could remember clearly was the sud- 
den strength and clearness of William Rowan’s 
voice making the responses in the marriage 
service. For better or for worse — so long as 
56 


Phoebe’s Plight 

they both should live. The ineffable piteous- 
ness of it ! Yet even as she listened there came 
a strange new feeling of peace to her own heart. 
She had done what she could to make up for 
what she could not help. And after this she 
had waited calmly, smiling at him whenever 
he opened his eyes long enough to smile at 
her. Then the night seemed to go on like 
a quiet dream. Only a faint wind sighed 
through the blooming locust. No one spoke 
— till they told her that he was dead. 

Silently she had allowed them to lead her 
over to her own house. How still it was! 
All was peace now — perfect and everlasting 
peace for him — and a measure of peace for 
her as well. She still had no thought of weep- 
ing. There seemed nothing more to weep for. 
But after a long time the late full moon came 
up and with its coming a mocking-bird began to 
sing. Only a few faintest ripples of melody. 
Yet the unearthly sweetness of that first soft 
rippling touched her numbed heart, and soon 
melted her distress into gentle tears. Then with 
the rising of the moon the melody rose too, 
swelling at last into a heavenly flood that swept 
her grief clear away — upward toward heaven. 


57 


The Little Hills 


And all the other birds had sung and the 
sun had shone while his soldier comrades 
with bared heads, were bearing him to his last 
resting-place. For he had been a soldier too, 
one of the first to answer that awful mute ap- 
peal from the Alamo. And so those who had 
fought with him now bore him up the sunny 
hillside across the rosy meadows and above the 
fresh tenderly green fields stretching to the 
misty wooded hills. On eveiy side was beauty 
and peace as the little procession wound its way 
up the hill while all the bells were tolling — not 
only the church bell but the courthouse bell and 
the schoolhouse bell — and even the humble 
bell that swung before the tavern — all had been 
rung in slow, solemn rotation to do him honor. 
The sunlight had been so warm and bright 
that the open bosom of Mother Earth had not 
seemed quite so cold — and Phoebe had looked 
away toward the wild flowers blooming near. 
There was just room to lay him beside her 
father and mother and she had felt that he 
would not be so lonely there, with the shining 
branches of the silver-beech coming down to 
the tender grass. But the sweetest and most 
peaceful of all was that when the kind neigh- 
58 


Phoebe’s Plight 

hors had taken up the simple old hymn, the 
birds overhead had helped them sing. 

Oh, no. Phoebe was not at all sad now, sit- 
ting there alone in the fragrant darkness. She 
was merely a little perplexed still, just a bit 
at a loss yet how to carry out her plans for 
happiness. 


59 


THE NEW MINISTER 


A FAINT whispering drew her wistful gaze 
upward. It was like a spirit chorus. The 
swallows — shadow-birds of the twilight — were 
circling the parsonage chimney at last. Their 
slanting wings now wavered in a long dark line, 
undulating like an endless scarf against the 
darkening sky. It was waving about her own 
chimney too, but she could not see it there 
directly overhead. A little later she would 
hear, the soft fluttering of unseen wings that 
never failed to come softly floating down from 
their resting-place to hers. And she always 
listened for the pleasant sound without know- 
ing that her utter loneliness craved even this 
mere murmur of life. 

Alone again in her seat under the vines, she 
watched the circling swallows so intently that 
she forgot all the grave thinking there still was 


The New Minister 


to do, and did not see John Wood, the new min- 
ister, till he stood at her feet. Then she sprang 
up startled and frightened. Her first thought 
was that he had come like the others to tell her 
what a great mistake she was making. As 
a ’minister it was his right, perhaps his duty. 
She never questioned any one’s right to advise 
or warn her, never doubted the motive of a 
word thus spoken. But she was very tired just 
now and always very shy. Then she hardly 
knew him at all. He and his aunt were almost 
strangers, and they had come at a time when 
she could pay slight attention to anything ex- 
cept her own sorrow. Since then the church 
had been undergoing repairs, so that there had 
been no opportunity to hear him preach. 

But she managed to meet him now with a 
smile and hold out her hand. They had seen 
each other often across the big road and had 
met more than once for a moment and in the 
presence of others. But they had never been 
so close together as they were now standing 
thus face to face and alone, she looking down 
through the fragrant opening in the flowering 
vines and he looking up from the sunken door- 
stone. For there was still light a-plenty, the 

6i 


The Little Hills 


witching light that glimmers over the shadowed 
earth with the closing of heaven’s west win- 
dows. So that they could see distinctly 
enough and to both of them it seemed as if 
they were meeting and seeing one another for 
the first time. It was a complete and pleasing 
surprise to her that he was so good-looking 
and so tall with such fair hair and such fine 
gray eyes. To him it came as a revelation 
that a little brown woman could be so beautiful 
without a single perfect feature. Her face was 
the sweetest, the most wistfully lovely that he 
had ever looked into. Yet he could hardly 
tell what made it so. Perhaps the long lashes 
that cast those exquisite shadows around the 
brown eyes, gave it this tender charm. He 
thought they did. 

He sat down on the edge of the porch when 
she invited him to take a seat, saying that he 
liked to watch the swallows circling, as he had 
seen her watching them as he crossed the big 
road. And he saw the quick glance that she 
gave him and idly wondered why it is, that the 
most innocent and honest of us always feel 
that uneasy pang, on learning that we have 
been observed unawares. Smiling at the 

62 


The New Minister 


thought he went on talking of the swallows, only 
waiting now and then for her to speak a bash- 
ful word or two. But there were momentary 
silences while they watched the beautiful, mys- 
tical spectacle with uplifted faces from which 
the smiles had faded. For there is something 
solemn in all real beauty and mystery. 

“ How beautiful and mysterious they are,” he 
said. “ Little shadow-ships of the air — with 
two slender wings for sails and two slenderer 
feathers for rudders — launched upon the 
golden ocean of sunset and sailing into the 
silver sea of shadows.” He turned with a 
smile. “ That faint twittering might come 
from bird-spirits abroad.” 

“ Indeed the swallows are very much alive,” 
she answered in the same tone, speaking much 
less diffidently than usual because it was such 
a relief to talk about anything except the one 
thing that she feared to hear mentioned. And 
then she knew more about birds than most 
things, having lived with them rather than peo- 
ple all her life. “ And the bravest little bodies 
— far braver than many big birds. There! 
See that. Look — look I ” 

For the cry of an owl had rung from the 
63 


The Little Hills 


great elm and — sure enough — as if to prove 
what she said, the long dark line did drop and 
straighten in arrowlike pursuit of the hawking 
enemy. Then — safe once more — it drooped 
again and peacefully began to weave narrowing 
circles around the chimney as before. 

“ My aunt doesn’t like the swallows,” he said 
lightly. “ She declares that they are a bother 
and always sending grass and feathers down 
the chimney. She doesn’t like anything that 
makes housekeeping harder. In fact she 
doesn’t like to keep house. She only does it 
for me because I haven’t a wife and because 
she thinks no minister who boards can ever be 
properly respected. Maybe she’s right — prob- 
ably she is. At all events I appreciate the 
great, daily effort she makes. Her taste is for 
natural history. I’m sure that she has a 
grudge against the swallows only because she 
can’t get at them. I caught her examining a 
bit of one of their eggs — a pearly fragment 
flecked with red — under her microscope the 
other day. You see our old home is in a large 
town so that this is her first good chance to 
study Nature — and she’s finding wonders,” 
he said, laughing. “ Every night since we’ve 
64 


The New Minister 


been here she has heard a queer, shivering 
cry, a sort of feathered moan from over this 
way — ” 

“ Oh — yes — that’s the screech-owl,” said 
Phoebe eagerly, quite forgetting her diffi- 
dence. “ She can see it too if she likes 
almost any night — by keeping quiet and hav- 
ing patience. It’s a comical little bunch of 
speckled feathers — all head and eyes. But 
sometimes — ” 

A sudden recollection sobered her and she 
shivered, recalling a dreadful midnight not 
long before when she had been awakened by 
a wild beating of invisible wings in utter 
darkness. 

“At first I was so terrified that I didn’t 
know what it was, or what in the world to 
do,” she said shivering again : “ It was so 
dark that I couldn’t see a thing. I didn’t 
dare get out of bed and was too scared to 
remember the candle and matches on the 
chair beside me. When I did think of them 
I was afraid to put out my hand. So there I 
lay — quaking — with those awful wings almost 
touching my head as they dashed by. At last 
though I got the candle lit somehow and saw 
F 65 


The Little Hills 


a screech-owl sitting on the top of the window, 
turning its big horned head clear round as if 
it would twist it off — and glaring at me with 
its awful eyes. Mercy ! It makes me shudder 
to think of it. And I didn’t know any more 
what to do then than before and was worse 
frightened too — if that could be. But pres- 
ently he began to swell out and to snap his 
bill as if getting ready to bite. I couldn’t 
stand that and got up and stood still by the 
bed — trying hard to think what to do. There 
wasn’t anybody to call — nobody to help me — 
not a living soul in the house but myself. I 
didn’t dare take my eyes off him to look 
round but presently I thought of the long- 
handled broom standing in the corner. It 
took me some time to edge over to it with- 
out turning my back on the owl — and he never 
blinked once. But it took still longer to catch 
him under the broom. For every time I tried 
he dashed round the room like a fierce goblin, 
hissing and snapping his bill and swelling out, 
bigger and bigger. But I did get him after 
a while and raked him down the wall, slowly 
and carefully, trying not to hurt him. Hurt 
him ? Mercy ! It put me up to all I knew 
66 


The New Minister 


to keep him from hurting me. Gracious ! how 
he fought. I could hardly hold him down now 
that I had him — and so was worse off than ever 
for I couldn’t let go — couldn’t even rake him 
over nearer the window hoping he’d fly out 
as he had flown in. It looked like I’d have 
to stand there holding the broom with both 
hands, till somebody came in the morning. 
But my sleeve brushed my work-basket and 
that gave me an idea. If I could turn the 
basket over him and weight it down, that 
would keep him safe and give him plenty of 
air. For I had taken out the silk lining that 
very day and hadn’t put in the fresh one. 
Well — that’s what I did — though I don’t know 
how to this very minute and weighted the 
basket down with my heaviest book. Oh ! oh 
— How weak I was ! ” 

The new minister was looking at her though 
the dusk was so deep now that he could not 
see the rueful little face very clearly. But he 
saw with wonderful clearness the quaint, pa- 
thetic, pretty, lonely little figure of helpless- 
ness that her simple words brought before 
him. And seeing it he wondered why this 
guileless story which was evidently meant 
67 


The Little Hills 

to amuse him should have moved him in- 
stead. 

“Well, that wasn’t all — not nearly all,” 
sighed Phoebe so intent that she did not notice 
the look or the silence. “ Naturally worn out 
I went back to bed because I couldn’t stand 
up and actually fell asleep still so frightened 
that my heart was beating by leaps. I don’t 
know how long it was before I was awak- 
ened by the very same thing — only the wings 
sounded larger and wilder and to beat the 
blackness more fiercely. I nearly lost my 
wits. Surely he would eat me up this time. 
Putting him under the basket had made him 
still more angry and dangerous. I didn’t stop 
to wonder how he had got out. I just drew 
the cover over my head and kept it there — 
cuddling down and shuddering — till I nearly 
smothered. With the fright and fatigue I 
could hardly breathe anyway, and had to take 
the cover off my face before long, and lie there 
almost fainting with those awful wings rushing 
by. At last I couldn’t stand it another mo- 
ment. It seemed better to get up and let him 
bite me and have the worst over. And so I 
got up and lit the candle and started in reck- 
68 


The New Minister 


less desperation to get the broom again as it 
was the only weapon I had. But in crossing 
the room I turned over my work-basket — and 
otit flew the other owl — for this wasn’t the 
same one as I thought. There were two of 
the frightful goblins now, both dashing madly 
about, hissing and snapping their bills and 
swelling themselves out.” 

“ And then what did you do ? ” he asked 
smiling but with a tightening in his throat. 

“ Ran out here — over there in the furthest 
corner of the porch where the vines are thick- 
est. It wasn’t quite dawn,” she added hastily, 
“ and there’s hardly any passing at that hour. 
But a rooster crowed somewhere in the neigh- 
borhood before long and that is always a cheerful 
sound. It makes you feel safe. Then some- 
body began chopping wood — way off — and 
I always like to hear that too. It makes you 
think of families — large happy families — with 
plenty of company — gathering around the fire 
even in summer time. After that I wasn’t 
afraid. But I didn’t go in till broad daylight, 
long after the owls were gone — for these vines 
were nearly as thick then as they are now.” 

She broke off suddenly in some confusion 

69 


The Little Hills 


and sat still and ill at ease. Already it seemed 
to her unaccountable and rather unseemly, that 
she should have spoken so freely of these inti- 
mate matters to a comparative stranger. She 
felt ashamed and wondered how she could have 
done it. For she did not know that the shyest 
soul may be so lonely that it rushes to meet 
the first congenial spirit. 

He saw her sudden embarrassment without 
knowing what caused it, and this unexpected 
withdrawal made him uneasy too. He was not 
yet quite familiar with his duties as a minister. 
It now flashed over him that he should say 
something about her husband, that he ought 
to make some reference to her recent bereave- 
ment. For he knew of it and of the sad cir- 
cumstances of her marriage, having heard all 
that the mere lookers-on could tell. But there 
was something in the drooping aloofness of this 
little black-clad figure, though he could see it 
only dimly, that held him silent. Intuition led 
him safely away and he began to speak quietly 
of the real anxiety that he felt for his aunt. 
And he could have hit upon nothing more sure 
to arouse Phoebe than any appeal for sympathy 
and help. 


The New Minister 


“It really was a great sacrifice for her to 
leave her old home and lifelong friends — who 
understand her harmless ways — and come here 
to live among strangers in a strange place. 
And she did it solely for my sake.” His 
earnest tone grew lighter and he laughed mer- 
rily. “Yes, she thinks that a minister cannot 
be properly respected unless he has a home of 
his own. Maybe — she’s right — I don’t know. 
But it’s certainly most unselfish of her to keep 
house. for me — when she hates housekeeping 
with all her heart. I’ve always felt that we all 
deserve special credit for doing the things that 
we most dislike. And it must be especially 
hard to do them when we are no longer young. 
The very move was hard enough. Moving old 
people is like transplanting old trees,” he said 
rather sadly. 

“Maybe so — I’m afraid so — very much 
afraid,” she said hurriedly almost as if in alarm. 
“ That’s the very thing I’ve been thinking about 
— long and hard — this whole day through.” 

“ Yes ? ” he said eagerly, but had to go on with- 
out another word from her. “ One reason for 
my coming over this evening so unceremoniously 
was to beg you to be neighborly with my aunt. 
71 


The Little Hills 


You would if you knew how homesick she has 
been. I don’t dare ask the older ladies of the 
church. There has been a grave breach 
already. That yeast-jar on the front gate-post 
— ” he said, laughing again. 

Phoebe laughed too but cordially promised to 
do her best. 

“ Then come over often to see her,” he 
urged honestly believing that he spoke solely 
on his aunt’s behalf. “ Come early to-morrow 
morning and just as often and as soon as you 
can. Please do. We are going to the woods — 
I’m that anxious to please her. She is a botan- 
ist and a student of natural history — an ardent 
lover of bugs and weeds and other unattractive 
things that don’t interest me in the least. But 
turn about is fair play and she does her best 
to keep house. She’s still looking for wonders 
in this unknown country. Perhaps you would 
come too. Do come and go with us early 
to-morrow morning — before the sun gets too 
warm.” 

“ Not to-morrow,” with a quick change of 
tone as recollection chilled her and with the 
same sudden shrinking. “ I couldn’t — I’m 
expecting company.” 


72 


The New Minister 


He waited, much perplexed. But she said 
nothing more and the constraint soon grew so 
great that he could only rise to go. This he did 
saying rather formally that he — and his aunt 
— would be pleased to have her come when- 
ever she found it entirely convenient. Never- 
theless he looked back more than once on the 
way across the big road, trying to see through 
the falling dusk. At the gate he stood so 
long, still gazing and wondering, that she 
also began to wonder thinking it strange 
that the light of his lamp did not shine out, 
throwing a broad, shining band almost to her 
feet. Other lights were already glimmering 
farther off under the great trees where dark- 
ness was gathering. For it was in the dark of 
the moon and the neighbors never lingered 
long away from their own thresholds unless 
there was bright moonlight. And the dimly 
lit windows never glimmered long through the 
thick vines and low boughs. Most of the 
people were ready to go to bed with the birds. 


73 


V 


THE NEIGHBORS AND THE NEWCOMERS 

By sunrise the next morning everybody 
knew that even Mrs. Pottle had failed to turn 
Phoebe; that her new relations were actually 
coming in spite of the general protest; that 
they were in fact already on the way and 
would get there that very day unless the 
stage broke down. 

There was usually more or less uncertainty 
about the time of its arrival but delay only 
made expectation keener — if that could be. 
For the stage’s coming and going were al- 
ways most keenly interesting events. It was 
the sole link between this remote corner of the 
earth and the outside world and it made only 
two trips a week with the mail. No one in 
the community wrote or received many letters, 
to be sure, but of course there was always a 
chance that some one — especially Arabella — 
74 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

might get a letter and then there was also the 
prospect of an occasional passenger. Few 
travellers ever set out for the village yet 
nevertheless a good many rather singular 
wayfarers reached it, for the reason that Hil- 
lery Kibbey, the stage-driver, never passed 
any one a-foot on the road without offering a 
free ride. To have done that would have been 
against the kind custom of the country and 
Hillery himself was a friendly soul, fond of 
company and glad to have any one to talk to 
on his long route. Indeed his remarkable 
conversational powers were among the several 
causes of his great and long popularity. But 
there was another and a more exclusive reason 
for his being particularly well known and liked 
by the leading ladies of the village. 

This was a habit that they all had of getting 
him to fetch, from the larger shops in the large 
town at the other end of his route, certain 
choice articles of dress which were not to be 
found nearer by. No one knew how the habit 
had first been formed but it had long been 
firmly established thus making Hillery a per- 
son of recognized social importance. He not 
only brought every dress-bonnet of any real 
75 


The Little Hills 


elegance that came to the village for years 
and years, but he took it back again when it 
was not quite right — as it hardly ever was — 
and with elaborate verbal directions for its 
alteration into the bargain. It was really 
wonderful that he could remember so much 
that he did not understand. But the dullest 
of us can learn a good deal when it is as much 
to our interest as this was to his. Moreover 
Hillery was by no means dull and naturally 
obliging. 

Under the circumstances it was both neces- 
sary and pleasant that the very first ladies in 
all the country round, should have long and 
confidential confabs with Hillery every time 
he came and nearly every time he went. For 
if it chanced that one of them wanted nothing 
done for herself, she was naturally none the 
less interested in knowing what he was doing 
for the other ladies. And Hillery soon man- 
aged to make it quite clear that the surest way 
to prevent his forgetting the smallest detail of 
an order, and the only way to secure his un- 
divided attention, was to invite him to dinner 
or supper. The men for their part were quite 
willing to have him invited, because they all 
76 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

liked him and then he always brought the 
latest news. However it was to the squire’s 
house that he was bidden more often than 
anywhere else and there that he fared best. 
In the early spring or fall at the critical sea- 
sons when the beaver or the leghorn dress- 
bonnets of the squire’s lady were at stake, 
Hillery was sometimes invited to spend the 
night in the best spare-room, and the stage 
horses also feasted in the squire’s roomy 
stables. And so with the passing of the 
placid years a rather keen rivalry had sprung 
up among the ladies of the neighborhood over 
the good offices of the stage-driver. In the 
prosperous days that this story tells of he sel- 
dom had to go to the tavern. House after 
house became as home to him till there were 
only two that he did not visit and both of them 
— oddly enough — belonged to his best cus- 
tomers. One was the home of Mrs. Arabella, 
or rather Mrs. Captain Lightfoot as she pre- 
ferred to be called. She had a right to the 
title, inasmuch as she said that her husband 
had written back that he had acted as captain 
of the company of gold-hunters with whom he 
had gone to California. Certainly her claim 
77 


The Little Hills 


was never disputed and could not have been 
had anybody ever wished to dispute it for 
nobody knew anything except what she gave 
out — in her vaguely important way — from his 
letters and those were longer and longer in 
coming. It was two years now since the last 
one had come yet that wonderful golden gla- 
mour — that glittering mist — which wrapped 
the Argonauts remained as dazzling as ever. 
It gilded even those whom they had left be- 
hind and Arabella still shone brilliantly by 
this reflected light. It was indeed a source of 
pride to the entire community to have a real 
Argonaut’s lady in the neighborhood. In fact 
there was no little surprise that so distin- 
guished a personage should be content in so 
remote a spot. But whenever anything of 
the kind was said to Arabella herself she 
always gave a charming explanation which 
satisfled everybody. 

“ It is solely on Mandy Pottle’s account,” 
she used to say with a confidential lowering 
of her pleasant voice. “We were schoolmates, 
you know. I have relied on her for guidance 
all my life. She has such a strong character and 
such sound judgment — and I’m as helpless as 
78 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

a baby. Oh no, I couldn’t think of going away 
from her now when I haven’t the captain to 
lean on. No, indeed — I couldn’t possibly live 
away from dear Mandy Pottle.” 

Nobody ever thought of doubting her sin- 
cerity. Even old Mrs. Crabtree agreed that 
it was quite true that Arabella could not live 
anywhere else — without a penny in the world 
to live on — while she certainly could live here 
on the fat of the land, just as long as she 
would let Mandy Pottle tell her when to 
breathe. But then that old game-maker was 
always saying something sharp about some- 
body. Arabella was really held in the highest 
respect. Whenever the stage came in the few 
men who were waiting for business letters 
always stood back — hats in hand — to allow 
Arabella to pass into the post-office first. And 
the shoemaker who was also the postmaster 
never dreamt of serving anybody else till he 
had gone over the whole mail to see if there 
was a letter for her from the captain. Then 
everybody always looked sorry — and surprised 
too — that there was not one. That is every- 
body did except Arabella herself. She was 
always perfectly certain that it would come 
79 


The Little Hills 


in the very next mail and fluttered out of 
the post-office just as gayly as she fluttered 
in, bowing and smiling with her pink ribbons 
flying and tripped off on her high heels. 
Those high heels by the way, gave Hillery 
Kibbey a great deal of trouble because they 
were not much worn and hard to And. Some- 
times he had to have them made and advance 
the money out of his own pocket. But he had 
no need to grumble knowing from experience 
that Mrs. Pottle would pay him — with a hand- 
some profit — when Arabella could not, which 
was almost invariably the case. Then Hillery 
admired Arabella considering her the finest 
lady of his acquaintance, as indeed she was. 
Also she had such a taking way of asking 
him to drop in any time for a light, tasty snack 
that he hardly noticed her failure to name any 
special time. Moreover he did notice that she 
seldom forgot to get Mrs. Pottle to invite him 
and often hinted till the squire, out of all 
patience, shouted clear across the big road 
telling him to fetch the stage horses too. 

The other house which never entertained 
him was old Mrs. Crabtree’s. He had no 
special liking for that lady whom he usually 

8o 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

spoke of as “ a caution.” Nevertheless she was 
a good customer sending by him for books 
nearly every trip and paying liberally without 
looking too closely into profits either. But 
business can never be everything to the most 
enterprising man of proper self-respect. It 
nettled Hillery to see old Mrs. Crabtree sitting 
at her window without taking the trouble to 
nod or even turn her head when he drove 
up with the books. He was not used to 
being treated as a mere carrier and the fact 
that the scornful old lady sent her daughter 
out with other orders and the cash in hand, 
did not sooth his wounded pride in the least. 
For Anna Crabtree — poor soul — was one of 
those persons who are never taken into ac- 
count. And finally Hillery set his wits to 
work. It was not easy for him to find a way 
to reach “ the grand Mogul ” as he sometimes 
called the old lady. She cared for nothing but 
books and Hillery read only an occasional 
newspaper, having a very poor opinion of any- 
body who did read much, especially books. 
Yet he was not one to allow his own prefer- 
ence or personal prejudice to stand in the way 
when he once set out to do a thing. Accord- 


The Little Hills 


ingly it was not a great while before he 
stopped — drawing up the stage before Mrs. 
Crabtree’s window — with a respectful and self- 
respecting good-morning which was followed 
by a fresh piece of literary news. He had got 
it from the clerk of the book-store in exchange 
for a big twist of the finest old tobacco. But 
old Mrs. Crabtree had no means of knowing 
that and stared at him blankly for a moment. 
Then she understood well enough to laugh 
and forthwith began a long and lively confab. 
Henceforth this was repeated nearly as often 
as he passed, for he continued the study of 
literature along with his pursuit of the fash- 
ions. His success in this line was even more 
remarkable than his mastery of millinery, if 
not quite so generally appreciated. It is true 
that it never brought him and old Mrs. Crab- 
tree any nearer together than the gate and the 
window but Hillery was quite content. He 
had properly asserted himself and from this 
time on had only the best of feeling in the 
matter. However on this memorable morning 
in June he could not stop even for the usual 
confab. And the old lady seeing the stage 
go by and catching a glimpse of its passengers, 

82 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

suddenly bethought herself that it might per- 
haps be amusing to hear something about the 
arrival. 

“ Put on your bonnet Anne, and run up to 
Phoebe’s. The old folks are in the stage sure 
enough. It couldn’t be anybody else. Don’t 
stop to get your dress-bonnet — your sunbonnet 
will do. There it is. Only make haste — I 
want to hear all about it. Hurry! One looks 
about as well on you as the other,” eyeing her 
as she usually did — with the critical intoler- 
ance of an old woman who has been a beauty 
for a plain woman who is no longer young ; an 
intolerance that seems curiously unaffected by 
the closest ties of blood. “ Run along as you 
are. What’s the odds I Then I want to know 
just what they all do and say when the stage 
gets there — it’s too warm and too much trouble 
for me to go myself. Now mind that you keep 
your eyes open. For goodness’ sake don’t go — 
as usual — with your head in a bag.” 

Anne had been more than willing to make 
her escape in all haste. She was already on 
her way up the big road and began to breathe 
more freely beyond the reach of her mother’s 
voice. Glancing timidly from side to side she 
83 


The Little Hills 


wondered that no one else was in sight. The 
housewives always came out with their sewing 
to save time, and sat on the front porches in 
full view while waiting to see the stage pass. 
There never was the slightest attempt to hide 
the interest that they all felt, nor any reason 
for trying to conceal it. But on this memo- 
rable morning in June most of them deemed it 
more delicately respectful on Phoebe’s account, 
that they should for once watch and wait in- 
doors, with discreet openings between the ruffles 
of the white curtains. Only Mrs. Pottle and the 
widow Wall had been seen and they had gone 
together up the big road but ten minutes before, 
the squire’s wife having called by for her friend. 
As they now walked along under the trees 
Mrs. Pottle remarked that things sometimes 
came about so that a sense of duty would not 
allow you to consider solely what was due to 
yourself. She then explained why she was out 
now when she would have much preferred stay- 
ing at home, and attending to her own affairs 
since she got such scant thanks for attending 
to other people’s. It was quite time — so she 
said — that some decisive step was taken to 
put a stop to the scandal of that yeast-jar. 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

“ Now just think of it, Jane,” she appealed 
almost pathetically. “ On the front gate-post of 
a nice parsonage that a respectable congrega- 
tion has bought and paid for. It fairly makes 
my blood boil to remember the strawberries 
that I’ve capped — yes, and picked too bend- 
ing down stout as I am and in the broiling 
sun — to say nothing about the cream that I’ve 
whipped, to help make the money that went 
into that parsonage. Besides there are all the 
tussles I had with the squire to make him do 
his part.” 

“’Pears to me he should have wanted to do 
it without any making,” said the widow Wall 
tactlessly: “he’s a member too.” 

“ Of course he did.” Mrs. Pottle fired in- 
stantly. “ That was only his way of getting me 
all worked up as he glories in doing — and you 
know it, Jane — just as well as I do. There 
are men though — anyway there used to be — ” 

The widow Wall hastily opened and shut 
the parsonage gate with such a clatter that the 
rest of the taunt was lost — if it was intended 
for one : “ Land alive, look at that ! ” she cried 
pointing to a row of large pale blue flowers. 
“Common Jimson weeds — if my eyes see 
S5 


The Little Hills 


straight — spread out on the front porch as if 
they were something rare. Well — I never!” 

“ And seed pods too — sure as we are 
standing here — hung up in the wind to sow 
the whole neighborhood,” scolded Mrs. Pottle. 
“ When I’ve pulled the weeds out of the par- 
sonage garden with my own hands and stood 
over the black boys for hours at a time. The 
next thing we know she’ll be planting these 
torments that we had so much trouble to get 
rid of. Yes, it’s certainly time that something 
was done before the parsonage goes teetotally 
to rack and ruin.” 

“ The flowers really are pretty,” said the 
widow Wall with her quick eyes for the orna- 
mental, looking closer at the blossoms of the 
Jamestown weed. “ They are like fine artifi- 
cials and I wouldn’t mind having some of the 
same kind on my dress-bonnet. My taste 
always was dressier than yours, Mandy. But 
maybe that was because you are stouter 
and — ” 

“ There now 1 ” exulted Mrs. Pottle turnino- 

o 

round after knocking hard. “ What did I tell 
you 1 The front door’s shut and the side door 
standing wide open — with the chickens walk- 
86 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

ing through the passage and not a soul to be 
seen or heard about the place. Well — I told 
you all how it would be when you would have 
another single preacher.” 

“ Maybe he will find a wife among us,” said 
the widow Wall with a conscious smile. “ He’s 
real handsome and very intelligent and not at 
all too young either,” as she spoke, perking in 
the quaintest manner imaginable. 

“ Marry ! ” scouted Mrs. Pottle. “ Ridiculous ! 
Who under the shining sun could he find here 
to marry ? ” 

The widow Wall bridled, but fortunately 
her friend was knocking loudly on the front 
door and did not notice. 

“Ah-ha! just as I expected,” Mrs. Pottle 
fumed. “ Nobody at home. Ten to one but 
that half-cracked old woman is off to the woods 
again, taking the new minister with her. Well, 
we’ll sit down here on the front porch anyhow 
long enough to rest. For it’s as much mine 
and yours as anybody’s. That’s just what 
makes me say what I do about that yeast-jar 
on the front gate-post. She has no more right 
to set it there than to bring it down and put it 


on ours. 


87 


The Little Hills 


“Well — some people seem to think some- 
times that they have some right to do as they 
like,” said the widow Wall showing the resent- 
ment that she dared not express more directly. 

But this also was lost on Mrs. Pottle who 
was leaning forward to watch the big road with 
keen attention. For the stage was now rum- 
bling toward Phoebe’s gate, and to see it arrive 
had been the real object of this visit to the 
parsonage. Mrs. Pottle had not known that 
there was no one at home, but she had made 
up her mind to insist upon sitting on the front 
porch. From that point she could have a clear, 
close view of Phoebe’s front gate which she 
knew no other way to get. Offended dignity 
would not let her go to the house and she was 
too curious about the newcomers to miss seeing 
their arrival. 

“ There they come,” cried the widow Wall : 
“and there’s Phoebe now standing out at the 
gate — waiting for them — poor thing.” 

“ She’s brought it on herself. There wasn’t 
any need for her to saddle herself with such 
a burden.” Mrs. Pottle’s heart hardened sud- 
denly, seeing all this going on without having 
any part in it. 


88 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

“ Hillery is driving straight on without stop- 
ping to leave the mail-bag. Just look how 
grand he sits up — and the wide swath he cuts, 
— in turning to pull up before Phoebe’s gate. 
My goodness ! Did you see that ? Why, the 
old lady hopped out without waiting for Phoebe 
or anybody to open the stage-door. She just 
flung it back herself. And she ain’t old at all. 
Her hair’s black as a crow,” said the widow, 
enviously. “ But then maybe her face is 
wrinkled,” hopefully, “ you can’t tell this far.” 

“ All the worse then — there is always some- 
thing wrong when the hair stays black after 
the face gets wrinkled,” declared Mrs. Pottle 
with conviction. 

Her own comely, rosy face bore few lines 
and there were plenty of silver threads in her 
abundant dark hair. The widow Wall glanced 
at her in open admiration and with secret envy. 
The look could not but please Mrs. Pottle. 
Then both the ladies turned again to look at what 
was going forward around Phoebe’s front gate. 

“ See her small head. Isn’t it the smallest 
you ever saw on such a tall woman ? ” said the 
widow Wall. “She’s lanky too. Now I’m tall 
myself — but nobody ever could accuse me of 

89 


The Little Hills 


being slab-sided. Just see how she towers 
head and shoulders above Phoebe and Anne 
and her head is smaller than theirs. Both of 
them and the old lady all seem to be having 
lots of trouble to get the old man out of the 
stage. Phoebe is such a mite and Anne’s no 
help to anybody. Don’t you think we ought 
to go over — ” 

“ No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Pottle shortly and 
tartly. “And I do think you might have more 
consideration for me than to mention such a 
thing, after seeing the way Phoebe treated me 
last night. What’s more — you were partly 
to blame for it.” 

The retort came with unexpected spirit : “ I 
didn’t say one thing that I didn’t mean. And 
I don’t believe Phoebe did either — so there ! 
I’m mighty certain anyhow that she believes 
it’s right to bring these old folks here. And I 
wouldn’t like even to say she wasn’t — much 
less try to keep her from doing what she thinks 
she ought to do. There ain’t many people, 
Mandy, that are always as sure they’re right 
and everybody else is wrong — as you are.” 

“Well Jane, if you’ve come here only to 
quarrel it seems better to be going home. It 


90 


The Neighbors and the Newcomers 

was my impression that we were coming as 
Christians for the good of our church,” rising 
haughtily. “ But of course you can do as you’ve 
a mind to. I decline to stay a moment longer,” 
moving toward the steps. “Then I want to 
send a basket of June apples over to Arabella.” 

The widow Wall followed rather frightened 
at her own revolt, as she always was at these 
uncontrollable flashes of spirit. Then she was 
chronically jealous of her friend’s kindness to 
Arabella as Mrs. Pottle knew. Feeling very 
uncomfortable indeed she walked on in silence at 
a loss for something to say. They kept to the 
other side of the big road, but could see plainly 
enough all that was going on around the stage. 

“ The old gentleman’s leg must be bad yet,” 
the widow Wall mustered courage to say. 
“ Old bones are hard to mend — sometimes 
they don’t knit at all. Just look, Mandy, they 
are almost carrying him in the house. My ! 
There’s plenty of trouble ahead for Phoebe 
— poor little thing.” 

But Mrs. Pottle was not to be so easily pla- 
cated and said severely that it was silly to waste 
sympathy where it was neither deserved nor 
wanted. 


91 


VI 

TRANSPLANTING OLD TREES 

It was quite true that Phoebe needed no pity 
just then. She had never been happier in her 
whole life than she was now while helping 
Father Rowan into the house. He was not 
yet able to walk alone even with the aid of 
his cane. Then he was a short, stout, clumsily 
built old man and could hardly have been any- 
thing but awkward even in his best days. Yet 
she liked him from the first glance that passed 
between them before he got out of the stage. 
For she had looked into it with shrinking 
haste, hurriedly seeking the likeness which she 
dreaded to find. There was not a trace of it 
in his broad, red, good-natured face. She felt 
guilty because she could not help feeling glad. 

That was why she suddenly bent her 
shoulder to its task, so willingly and strongly, 
that Mother Rowan on the other side had 


92 


Transplanting Old Trees 

hardly any weight to bear. Anne carried his 
cane and between them they finally managed to 
get him up the steps and through the passage 
and into the chamber. 

“ There now! ” Phoebe beamed in saying this. 
“ You are sitting in your own arm-chair. This 
room is yours too — yours and Mother Rowan’s. 
And I do hope you both may like it. Only let 
me know if there’s anything you would wish 
changed. Perhaps you might prefer to have 
the bed somewhere else. I put your chair here 
close to the front window so that you might look 
out on the big road. There’s a good deal of pass- 
ing sometimes. Maybe you will like to see it 
— till you’re well again and can go everywhere. 
When you are tired we can move you over by 
the back window where you may look at the 
garden and smell the spice pinks. But you’ll 
soon be going about.” 

Then crossing her little hands she stood by 
his side looking around the chamber with a 
glow of open pride. It had taken a great deal 
of hard work to make it look so well and she 
had done it all herself. Her sulky servant had 
bluntly refused to turn a hand, being as much 
opposed to this addition to the family as the 


93 


The Little Hills 


rest of her friends and with more personal cause. 
But Phoebe was not thinking of these matters 
now as she looked around the shadowed cham- 
ber smiling happily to see how very nice and 
quiet and cool it was. The walls were freshly 
whitewashed and the spotless floor was nearly 
as white as the walls and brightened by gay 
home-made rugs. Her finest, whitest fringed 
counterpane and her nicest pillow-cases with 
the widest ruffles made the high old bed look 
like a newly fallen snow-drift. The white mus- 
lin curtains were ruffled too and drawn back, 
to let in the cool green light that came through 
the vines, and the soft breeze with its scent of 
roses. But the prettiest of all was the wide 
fireplace filled with the misty green of aspar- 
agus boughs. It seemed to her that nothing 
could be more exquisite. She had allowed 
most of the tender white stalks that peeped up 
in her asparagus bed to turn into this mist of 
verdure when she would have liked to eat 
them. And now proud of her success she 
turned shyly and glanced at Mother Rowan to 
see if she had yet seen how very, very beautiful 
it was — floating out of the deep fireplace cov- 
ering the whitened bricks with emerald clouds. 


94 


Transplanting Old Trees 

That alert lady of quick motions had already 
taken off her queer black bonnet and had laid 
it down, an ink spot on the whiteness of the 
counterpane. Her singularly small head with 
its abnormally dark hair was thus fully revealed. 
She was folding her mourning veil and now 
spread it over the bonnet. It was remarkable 
that so slight a thing could be done with such 
decision and energy. Then she turned sharply 
and her snapping black eyes swept the room in 
a single glance of startling keenness which 
stopped abruptly at the fireplace. 

“ All that green stuff has got to come out — 
first thing,” she said shortly. ’ “ It’s unhealthy 
and cluttering to boot. Then he — him over 
yonder a-sitting by the window — thinks he’s 
bound to have a fire night and morning all the 
year round,” she said, with a toss of her head 
toward her husband but without a glance. 
“ There’s no sense in it and I’d just about bro- 
ken him of thinking he had to have one when 
he hurt his leg. Since then he lets on that he’s 
chilly and I can’t tell whether he is or not.” 

“Yes indeed, of course he is. Thank you 
for telling me,” said Phoebe cheerfully, ashamed 
of feeling so much disappointed over such a 
95 


The Little Hills 


trifle. “ Certainly I’ll take the boughs out 
right away. I want you both to have every- 
thing just as you like and are used to. But I 
won’t know unless you tell me, so please do.” 

She knelt down before the hearth and began 
to remove the delicate, feathery sprays. But 
she could hardly stifle a sigh to think that this 
exquisite greenness — left a little longer in the 
garden — would have been gemmed with ruby 
seeds. Then an anxious pang sent these fan- 
cies flying. A fire all the year round ! She 
stood up suddenly and cast an uneasy glance 
through the back window. No, the woodpile 
was not in sight. It had sunk below the row 
of pink and white hollyhocks. She had never 
given a thought to fuel in making her plans 
for a larger family. Very little had been 
needed for the cooking of her own food and 
there has been no other need for it heretofore 
in the summer time. Kneeling down again 
before the fireplace she wondered how she 
might manage to get some wood. But she 
looked up brightly smiling, though a little 
startled by the tone in which her name was 
called. 

“ Yes, it’s always been his way to slide along 

96 


Transplanting Old Trees 

on the soft side,” said Mother Rowan snap- 
ping her eyes : “ but it’s never been mine. I 
believe in doing what’s right no matter how 
hard it is for me or anybody else. Right’s 
right and wrong’s wrong — just the same — 
no matter who likes it and who don’t. When a 
thing’s got to be done, the sooner it is the bet- 
ter according to my notion. There’s no shilly- 
shally about me nor any deceitfulness either. 
And that’s the reason I’ve made up my mind 
to tell you the downright truth at the very 
start.” 

Phcebe was rather frightened by this time 
and her transparent, uplifted face showed it 
yet she was still bravely smiling. 

“For it would be downright deceitful to let 
you start out a-thinking that I wanted to come 
here — amongst strangers and begin all over 
again at my age and with him in that fix — for 
I didn’t — and don’t — want any such thing. 
’Twould be against nature if I did with a 
daughter of my own to live with. Now then — 
we both know just where we stand for that’s 
the truth with the bark on it.” 

Phoebe hastily stood up with her arms full 
of the green mist. Her face flushed and her 


97 


The Little Kills 

lips began to quiver while her eyes filled with 
tears. 

“Tut-tut! What’s the use of all that.^^” 
growled Father Rowan. “ Sounds to me 
mighty ungrateful. For my part I haven’t 
heard anything about our living with Kate. 

■ If she asked us I don’t know it,” he said with 
a glance of defiance at his wife. 

There was a defiant note in his deep, hoai:se 
voice also. It made Phoebe think of an amia- 
ble bear growling through the bars of his cage, 
just to say what he could do if he were free 
and had a mind to. Then there was a humor- 
ous twinkle in his kind eyes as he looked 
round at her. She drew nearer to him already 
feeling that they must stand by one another 
if they were to stand at all. But neither ven- 
tured to speak seeing how those black eyes 
snapped from one to the other. 

“ Well, it wasn’t my fault that we didn’t get 
here while we had a home of our own to come 
to,” declared Mother Rowan squaring herself. 
“ We weren’t kept away till too late, because I 
went off and got my leg broken while I was 
out on a — ” 

It was lucky that Hillery Kibbey appeared 

98 


Transplanting Old Trees 

just then in the open door with the little trunk, 
and set it down on the bare floor with a noise 
that drowned everything else. Phoebe fol- 
lowed him into the passage and paid the cost 
of the journey out of her scanty store. Then 
she hurried back to help unpack so that the 
travellers might get settled as soon as possible. 

“ Till you are I can’t feel sure of keeping 
you for good — not till the last thing is taken 
out of the trunk and put away,” she said 
smiling timidly, with her sweet young face 
close to the grim old one. “ Let me — ” 

“ No, thank you,” Mother Rowan replied 
without any answering smile. “ It’s better for 
me to handle my own things — and his too — 
so that I can know where to lay my hand on 
whatever I want — or he does — any hour of the 
day and night. Then — not to be deceitful — 
I’m bound to say that I never did like having 
my clothes — or his — pulled and hauled by 
anybody else.” 

The blood flashed over Phoebe’s sensitive 
face coloring it more vividly than before. Yet 
a pretty flutter of dimples came with the rush 
of lovely color. For there was something 
comical in the wife’s never speaking the hus- 


99 


The Little Hills 


band’s name and in her always speaking at 
him, not once to him. It was already plain 
enough that this was a habit and not an ac- 
cident. And so Phoebe’s half-amused, half- 
frightened gaze now followed Mother Rowan 
who was going back and forth between the 
trunk and the wardrobe. 

“ It won’t be easy getting along without the 
big deep closet I’ve been used to,” she said. 
“ But I reckon I can somehow. I certainly 
ought to know by this time how to make the 
best of things no matter how bad they may be. 
And I always have made the best of ’em ! ” 
she cried pausing with an armful of rusty 
garments, and queer odds and ends. Her 
eyes snapped as if they surely must send out 
sparks. “ That I have ! I can say that much 
for — whatever other folks may say for 

//^^;;^selves,” she said, jerking her head toward 
her husband. “ Nobody living — or dead either 
for that matter — ever can say that I haven’t,” 
she said in fiery challenge. “ If poor William 
were alive and here this minute and could speak, 
he’d tell you the very same thing.” 

Phoebe shrunk closer to Father Rowan’s side 
breathing quickly. The little hand on his 


100 


Transplanting Old Trees 

shoulder suddenly began to tremble so that he 
hastily put up his big one to pat it and hold 
it steady. But she felt that he shrank too and 
noted that he had no more to say than herself. 
Both of them wanted to run away and hide 
from those snapping eyes. 

“Yes, he would,” Mother Rowan went on 
busy ‘again in laying the things on the ward- 
robe shelves. “ He’d tell you that I’ve never 
shirked — that I’ve always stood just as close 
to the mark as I could — come what would.” 

“ He did tell me,” said Phoebe faintly, hang- 
ing her head. “ He told me over and over 
what a hard life of self-sacrifice yours had been 
and how kind — ” 

But her voice suddenly failed and her eyes 
slowly brimmed as she looked up. She no 
longer saw this gaunt, grotesque figure. A 
noble character and an intrepid soul rose be- 
fore her in its place. She remembered now all 
that she had heard of this strange woman’s good- 
ness : all her tireless striving against overwhelm- 
ing misfortune : all her dauntless courage under 
lifelong discouragement: all her forgetfulness 
of self when self-sacrifice was bitterly hard : all 
her queer tenderness: all her unfailing kind- 


lOI 


The Little Hills 


ness to a weak and ailing child — not her own. 
Phoebe’s tender heart was deeply stirred. She 
felt keenly ashamed that she could not bring 
herself to say what she felt, that she dared not 
put her arms around that unbending neck and 
draw it down, and kiss those thin and harshly 
straightened lips. For she could not do any- 
thing but stand silent and gaze in wistful help- 
lessness, still shrinking and quivering. 

“ No, nobody ever can charge me with mak- 
ing a difference between his son and my 
daughter like the common run of step- 
mothers,” Mother Rowan continued in utter 
absorption. “So far as I could manage it, 
they always fared alike. That was the way as 
long as poor William lived and it’s the same 
way now that he’s dead. I’ve done by him just 
as I would have done by her. I’ve got him a 
handsome tombstone.” 

“ Oh,” cried Phoebe recoiling before she 
could control herself under this shock. 

Why not?'" challenged Mother Rowan on 
the defensive at once. Then the jealousy that 
was always smouldering blazed up. “ Hadn’t I 
a right to do for him just the same as before } ” 

“Yes — no — I only — it seems so soon — ” 


102 


Transplanting Old Trees 

faltered Phoebe forced to say something, and 
not knowing what she did murmur. 

“ Maybe it does to you^"* retorted Mother 
Rowan. “ A perfect stranger couldn’t be ex- 
pected to feel toward him as I do after bring- 
ing him up. And so far as that goes he would 
have to wait a whet for a tombstone if I had sat 
back — holding my hands — and waited till he 
got one from his own flesh and blood.” 

“ There — that’ll do,” growled Father Rowan. 

It seemed to Phoebe that the broad, bent old 
shoulders shrunk a little more notwithstanding 
this sturdy protest. But her whole attention — 
frightened, bewildered, fascinated — was fixed 
on that small face. She did not know in the 
least what its singular expression meant. She 
was not learned enough in life’s lessons to read 
the tragic story which it told in a way that was 
piteously absurd. The look on that forbidding 
face was really one of pure exaltation. It was 
an expression of spiritual triumph which had 
come at last to a grimly unimaginative nature, 
after years of fierce striving toward a single 
ideal. For this honest woman of narrow mind 
and strenuous soul had only one — her duty to 
her stepson — her whole hard life through. 


103 


The Little Hills 


But she had done her best to reach it, had 
never ceased trying to hitch her humble 
“ wagon to a star,” the sole fixed star that she 
ever could see, always shining high and far 
over a dark and stony waste. Poor Mother 
Rowan ! Let none of us dare laugh. For who 
of us has striven so hard and so long to reach 
any of the many stars that we are permitted to 
see ? 

And this was the supreme achievement of 
her long struggle. No wonder then that it 
now absorbed her so that she did not hear or 
see anything else. She sat down, forgetting 
the unpacking, and absently took up a turkey- 
wing and began fanning herself in excited 
jerks. 

“ It’s a real large, handsome tombstone too,” 
she went on proudly, nodding her small head 
till the tiny gold hoops in her ears swung to 
and fro. “ And I didn’t have to pay full price 
for it either because I got it at an auction.” 

“An auction!” repeated Phoebe, vaguely, 
thinking that she had not heard aright. 

“Yes — an auction,” said Mother Rowan, 
tartly. “Tombstone dealers have to sell out 
sometimes just like other folks. But a tomb- 


104 


Transplanting Old Trees 

stone auction don’t often come off just in the nick 
o’ time as this one did. Why, it was the very 
week after poor William died.” Then some- 
thing that she saw in Phoebe’s face caused 
her to fire up again. “ And he needed the 
stone just as much first as last — I suppose. 
There’s never any dilly-dally about me. No, I 
went right over to look at the stones before 
they were put up for sale. I made up my 
mind that he should have the best there was 
if I could raise the money for it. And you 
never can tell what you’re getting if you bid 
in a hurry without knowing what you’re doing. 
Then I wasn’t a-going to give William any 
second-hand stone that had been made for 
somebody else. My conscience was clear of 
imposing on him while he was alive and I cer- 
tainly didn’t intend to begin playing him any 
mean tricks at this late day,” she said with al- 
most amiable fluency. “ So I went beforehand 
and picked out the nicest, biggest stone there 
was in the whole lot. Then I hurried home 
and got out all the money I had and counted 
it very carefully. Most of the Mexican dollars 
that poor William had brought me from 
Mexico were in the same little bag just as he 


105 


The Little Hills 


had given them to me. He was free-hearted 
when he had anything. I hadn’t spent a dollar 
either except for the linen to make those fine, 
cool shirts — the ones I sent to him after he 
got sick — ” 

“Yes — I remember,” murmured Phoebe 
hastily, hanging her head. 

“ And I had some more too, a few more 
dollars that I’d earned teaching school,” Mother 
Rowan said, turning suddenly and snapping 
her eyes at the silent form beside the window. 
“ I hardly know how they had escaped his 
clutches when the rest of my school money 
was sunk — without leave or license from me 
— in that worthless, bad-smelling land. A 
farm ! Him with a farm — when he knew 
just as much what to do with it as a cat 
would know what to do with two tails.” 

“Now — I tell you again — that’s enough — 
a-plenty ! ” roared Father Rowan whose subjec- 
tion was only recent and not yet complete. 

His wife did not look at him again and 
ignored what he said : “ I counted it all up — 
what I had earned and the Mexican dollars 
that poor William had given me. It seemed 
as if there ought to be enough. But you 
io6 


Transplanting Old Trees 

never can tell about an auction. Some people 
are real mean about bidding against you and 
running things up. The best way is to go 
early enough to get a front seat where you 
can catch the eye of the auctioneer. I was 
a-standing on the top door-step when the door 
was opened on the morning of the auction 
and so got my pick of the seats. I happened 
to know the auctioneer too, and I do believe 
he knocked the tombstone down to me just 
as soon as he honestly could. Anyway I got 
the very one I’d set my heart on — the largest 
and handsomest there was in the whole lot. 
And there it is — all ready,” she said, turning 
toward Phoebe with the manner of one who 
expects to be congratulated. 

“ Where ? ” faintly asked Phoebe who could 
think of nothing else to say. 

“ Under shelter of course,” said Mother 
Rowan huffily. “ Where else should it be ? 
And it’s a-going to stay there too, till I can 
get it set up. It shall never be said of me that 
I gave my stepson a rain-stained and weather- 
streaked tombstone. Furthermore the storage 
on it is paid for two months. There’s nothing 
more to do except see about having it put up 
107 


The Little Hills 


properly. And I hope you’ve done your part 
and put him in a high, roomy place,” she added 
with sudden suspicion. “ I’m not a-going to 
have that large, handsome tombstone dumped 
down just anywhere.” 

But Phoebe was on her way out of the room. 
She had sprung up and now almost ran toward 
the door, with a sudden uncontrollable feeling 
that she could not stay a moment longer with- 
out breaking down. 


io8 


VII 

THE NEIGHBORS AND THEIR WAYS 

By this time the whole town knew that 
Phoebe’s new relations had come. Even those 
ladies who lived round the turn of the big 
road — which kept them from seeing the stage 
drive up to her gate — had heard the exciting 
whisper that flew along under the great trees 
from one vine-covered front porch to another. 
And now every feminine eye naturally turned 
toward the squire’s comfortable white house, 
expecting to see Mrs. Pottle promptly on her 
way to call upon the strangers. For that was 
always the next thing in order after the ar- 
rival of a visitor. Nobody doubted that she 
would pass very soon. But it was harder than 
usual to wait till she did, because everybody 
was full of curiosity and eager to call and see 
for herself. The coming of the stage had so 
absorbed public attention that few of the neigh- 

109 


The Little Hills 


bors had noticed Mrs. Pottle’s passing in the 
other direction on her way home from the 
parsonage, and the widow Wall was little ob- 
served at any time. Those who had seen the 
squire’s wife took it for granted that she was 
going to put on her newest lute-string dress 
and her freshest leghorn bonnet, in order to 
make the call in proper state. 

Accordingly they waited with such patience 
as they could muster, cautiously bending for- 
ward to peer often and anxiously through the 
vines. Then all of a sudden they sat up very 
straight in utter amazement, on seeing her 
come out wearing a fresh white wrapper instead 
of the dove-colored silk dress and without any 
bonnet at all. More mysterious still she came 
no farther than her own front porch, and sit- 
ting down with marked deliberation, spread 
her nicest quilt-pieces on her lap and began to 
sew — as though settled for the day — in full 
view of the whole big road. Most of the 
amazed ladies could see her quite as distinctly 
as they were ever able to see anything through 
such a mist of green. Those who were farther 
off knew she was sitting on her front porch by 
catching glimpses of the white wrapper, when- 


IIO 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


ever the soft breeze shifted the thick leaves. 
And so — after a moment of motionless aston- 
ishment — they peeped at one another sideways 
through their own vines in uneasy wonder ; and 
shook their heads as if dumbly asking what in 
the world such behavior could mean. For 
nobody had ever heard of anything like it in 
the whole social history of the place. 

There had never before been any delay in 
calling upon a visitor, especially a lady. The 
people were much too friendly and the visitors 
far too few to allow their welcome to be either 
tardy or lacking in warmth. This unprecedented 
state of things was therefore quite unaccount- 
able and no one knew what to make of it. 
Least of all did any one know what to say or do 
till Mrs. Pottle said or did something. For of 
course it was always she — never any one else 
— who called first and usually within an hour 
or so of the visitor’s arrival. It seemed only 
right and fitting that she should lead in this 
since she led in everything else and so all the 
ladies thought. Then to be quite frank it must 
have been a brave and enterprising woman as 
well as a presumptuous one, who would have 
ventured to take any social step before the 


The Little Hills 


squire’s lady had shown the way. Only old 
Mrs. Crabtree could possibly have been so bold, 
and she hardly ever cared enough for anything 
or anybody to take any kind of trouble. The 
other ladies never thought of doing such a 
thing, and would have been nearly as much 
shocked as alarmed at the bare idea. More- 
over there was something besides curiosity in 
the anxiety with which they waited now. Most 
of them were sincerely distressed on Phoebe’s 
account. For after all these newcomers were 
really her relations. Any delay in calling must 
wound her — and none among them could bear 
to think of that — for she was much beloved. 
Yet what was to be done with Mrs. Pottle 
sitting there, sewing and rocking, without giv- 
ing a sign of her intention or wishes ? Some- 
times she neither rocked nor sewed and sat 
as motionless in her white wrapper as a marble 
statue of indignation. 

To make matters worse this was the very 
season for visiting and being visited ; the very 
time out of the whole year when there was 
least need or wish to stay at home and when 
the neighbors were used to seeing most of one 
another. These long golden summer days and 


II2 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


these short silvery summer nights were not yet 
too warm to be perfect and the crystalline air 
was like balm. There was no more work to do 
in the gardens at the present yet the flowers 
that bordered the vegetables were still in full- 
est, sweetest bloom. The newly mown grass 
was almost as fragrant as the flowers and quite 
as green as in earliest spring with only a 
richer texture. There was no dust yet to dim 
the soft brown earth of the quiet big road, 
rambling along beneath the flowering trees and 
beside the blooming bushes. Thus with noth- 
ing to do just then except be happy and kind 
the neighbors had been used — as far back as 
they could remember — to stroll from one house 
to another stopping often to chat but rarely 
going inside, for the reason that everybody else 
was sitting on the rose-wreathed porches. Be- 
yond the open doors lay the scented, growing 
gardens and through the open windows floated 
the fresh white curtains. 

Even the house-cleaning was done. Yes, it 
was entirely over even at the squire’s where it 
usually began earlier and lasted later than in 
any other household, so safely over indeed that 
the squire himself had come back. It was not 


The Little Hills 


generally known where he went at such critical 
times, but he always disappeared at the first 
sign of these domestic upheavals. He would 
have gone before they were fairly upon him, 
but he never could tell in advance just when 
they were coming, because their appearance 
was slightly uncertain, owing to the earliness 
of the spring and the lateness of the fall. 
However the precise date had no effect what- 
ever upon the squire’s views and feelings. He 
always spoke of the house-cleaning as “ The 
Rippit,” and never hesitated to say that every 
rippit that came was worse and longer than 
any one of the many rippits that had gone 
before. Also he often said that he could not 
for the life of him see why a house — which 
was always so clean you hardly could live in it 
— should be torn up all over and all at once 
for days at a time and twice every year of a 
man’s miserable life. Sometimes when driven 
to the very verge of profanity — though a 
deacon in the church — he declared that it 
would not have been so bad if the blamed old 
house had not always looked exactly the same 
after the rippit as before. 

His wife very properly never took the least 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


notice of a word of this kind. She was not the 
sort of woman to expect a man to be reason- 
able in matters above his comprehension. And 
then she never let any difference of opinion 
from any source, or any opposition however 
strong, prevent her doing her own duty as she 
saw it — promptly, with all her might and with- 
out the slightest regard for anybody’s wishes 
and feelings. Consequently as the spring was 
early that year she had begun house-cleaning 
with such promptness and had pursued it with 
such energy and rigor that it was actually over 
at last, and the squire had come back, knowing 
from long experience that he need fear no 
relapse before the next fall. He did not mind 
the finishing touches of fresh whitewash which 
were still to be given the farthest fences and 
the oldest outbuildings. And even these were 
done now on this rare June morning, so leaving 
a greener greenness amid the sweet-smelling 
whiteness. 

It was no wonder then that the ladies were 
as much perplexed as disturbed, to see Mrs. 
Pottle thus sitting at leisure on her own shady 
front porch with her choicest quilt-pieces lying 
on her lap; and that uneasiness grew as the 
”5 


The Little Hills 


creeping hours went by. The widow Wall was 
greatly concerned and rather more agitated 
than almost any one else. For while she knew 
what had occurred at Phcebe’s on the previous 
evening — which the other ladies did not know 
— she had not for a moment believed that 
Mrs. Pottle’s resentment would go the length 
of withholding the usual call upon the visitors. 
She could hardly believe it still. Yet what 
else could Mandy Pottle mean by such un- 
heard-of behavior. The widow Wall could not 
help going out to her own gate beyond the 
low boughs and leaning shrubs, to get a bet- 
ter view. It seemed as if her own eyes must 
deceive her. When she had made sure that 
they did not, she felt that she ought to go 
straight on down to the squire’s and say exactly 
what she thought of such hard-heartedness. 
But she paused and stood irresolute. There 
was a reason why she should be slow to inter- 
fere. It was not the tiff with which she and 
her friend had parted on coming from the par- 
sonage that held her back. She was an easy- 
going soul and had quite forgotten that. 
There was another and better reason mak- 
ing it difficult and even painful for her to men- 

ii6 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 

tion this call — or any call — to the squire’s 
wife. 

This was the fact that Mrs. Pottle who 
always went first to see every newcomer never 
was known to go alone. She would no more 
have thought of doing such a thing than a 
royal personage would make a visit of cere- 
mony unattended. No, indeed! She invari- 
ably invited either the widow Wall or Arabella 
Lightfoot to go with her, always the one or the 
other but never both together. When there 
was no need to think of looks, no special im- 
pression to be made, or when the visit was of 
an unpleasant or melancholy nature — as for 
instance on the night before — she invited the 
widow Wall. But when there was the least 
need to consider appearances, or the slightest 
occasion to make an impression of fashion and 
elegance, she invited Arabella. This distinc- 
tion was natural enough considering the widow 
Wall’s looks and Arabella’s being such a fine 
lady. Indeed there was once some little 
danger that Arabella’s presence might produce 
an impression even greater than the squire’s 
lady expected or desired. But Arabella her- 
self was far too tactful to allow such a mistake 


The Little Hills 


to recur. From that time on she always made 
a point of speaking quickly and freely of her 
entire and helpless reliance upon Mrs. Pottle 
for social guidance as well as spiritual example. 
And no one ever could say such graceful 
things quite so eloquently as Arabella. 

Something of the kind touched Mrs. Pottle 
so deeply one day that she went straight home 
and reopened the argument with the squire 
about sending Arabella another pig. With 
greater spirit than ever before she told him 
that he should be heartily ashamed of himself 
for not having sent it long ago when Arabella 
needed it so. She also said that he need not 
pretend that he had forgotten it for she knew 
better and Arabella did too. She declared 
that he had not sent it simply and solely to 
worry her and Arabella and for no other 
earthly reason — not even selfishness. For 
what was one little mite of a pig to him when 
he had a whole field full ? It was nothing but 
a shame and she vowed she would not put up 
with it another day. Then she asked what he 
expected Arabella — just by her lone self, poor 
thing, without a chick or a child to her name 
and her husband Vay off in California — to do 

ii8 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


with all the rich, sweet milk of a fine young 
cow, with not a sign of a pig to give it to. 
Just to think of all that nice bonnyclabber 
going to waste too when there were plenty of 
hungry people — to say nothing of pigs — who 
would be more than glad to get it ! Why ! 
she cried, it was little short of a sin to let such 
things go on so and they should not, for she 
meant to make a stand then and there and put 
down her foot She said witheringly that 
maybe he considered such conduct becoming 
in a neighbor and a church member to say 
nothing of a deacon. For her part — so she 
said — it was impossible to see how he could 
reconcile it to his conscience as a Christian 
gentleman, and so long as she had breath she 
would feel it her duty to tell him exactly what 
she thought. 

“ And to be laughed at too,’’ she added now 
close to tears. “ That’s the hardest of all. I 
little thought when I sent the black boys to 
make that cosey little pen under the maple in 
Arabella’s back lot and had it whitewashed 
like the driven snow — even down to the new 
hickory trough — that I was only laying myself 
and my best friend open to old Mrs. Crabtree’s 


The Little Hills 


fun-making. For she can see the pen from 
her window — everybody can see it, it’s so 
white — and she sees everything. There’s 
hardly a day goes by without my hearing 
something ridiculous that she says about the 
pen’s being empty.” 

She paused here to catch her breath and 
the squire found his first chance to speak, in 
the quiet tone of mild irony which he always 
used in speaking of Arabella : 

“Well! well — I really didn’t know it was 
so bad as that,” he said, shaking his big 
grizzled head. “ But of course I’ve known 
all along that no one was to blame but myself. 
I freely, frankly admit that it’s all my own 
fault. I should have given Arabella an ordi- 
nary old cow instead of giving her the finest 
young heifer I had — as you insisted. Then 
she wouldn’t have had any trouble about the 
quantity or richness of the milk. It’s too bad 
— too bad! Well, I’ll make up for it now as 
best I can. She shall have another pig — 
that’s all I can do at present to prove my regret. 
The pig shall go this very day — just as soon 
as the sun gets a little lower — so that it may 
not lose flesh in being driven. But — if you 


120 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


will pardon my mentioning it in this connec- 
tion, my dear Madam — have you quite made 
up your mind whether it is also my duty as a 
neighbor, a Christian and a gentleman, to send 
somebody twice a day during the unnatural 
life of this honored pig — as I did during the 
prolonged career of his distinguished prede- 
cessor — to take the bonnyclabber to him, or 
him to the bonnyclabber as may suit the con- 
venience of the fair Arabella? Kindly give 
me full instructions — for I don’t want this pig 
to come as near starving as the other did 
through the lady’s absorption in sentiment.” 

His wife looked over his head in icy silence 
as she always did when he said things of this 
kind. She never understood what he meant 
by speaking in that tone but she knew it 
was nothing flattering to herself or Arabella. 
Moreover — being a sensible woman of long 
marital experience — she had found it to be just 
as well sometimes to let him think that he had 
the last word in these frequent disputes over 
Arabella, since they invariably ended in that 
lady’s getting whatever she wanted. 

Then the squire’s wife was quite right in 
cherishing such a friend at any cost. There 


I2I 


The Little Hills 


are not many friends so loyal as Arabella was. 
Few of us have even one. Most of our best 
friends are now and then ready to question 
and judge what we do and that is trying, par- 
ticularly when we know we are wrong. With 
Mrs. Pottle this was if possible more of a trial 
than with the rest of us who are not always 
quite so sure of being entirely right. There 
was the widow Wall for example whom Mrs. 
Pottle could not depend upon at all. Usually 
mild and manageable as a lamb, she would 
nevertheless flare up in the most unexpected 
manner at the most inconvenient times — just 
as she had done on the previous evening — 
without knowing or caring what it would lead 
to. Mrs. Pottle was thinking of this very 
thing, of how Jane Wall had behaved, as she sat 
there sewing and her indignation blazed anew. 
Under its influence she suddenly put down 
her work and got up and went indoors. In 
another moment she came out again wearing 
her sunbonnet, and set off along the big road 
with an air of decision that threw all the peep- 
ing ladies into an excited flutter. 

The widow Wall who was still standing at 
the gate could hardly wait till she came within 


122 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 

hearing: “I’ve been looking for you,” she 
called with an uneasy glance at the sunbonnet, 
yet making an effort to speak as usual. “You’re 
on your way up to see Phoebe’s new kin of 
course. It’s a real good idea to go before 
the sun gets too warm. It’s just pleasantly 
warm — just hot enough now to make every- 
thing smell sweet. Tell Phoebe I’m coming 
directly — ” 

Mrs. Pottle broke in. She had paused and 
stood stiffly looking straight up the big road : 
“ I’m not going near Phoebe’s,” she said coldly. 
“ I’m going to see Arabella. She’s 07 ze that I 
can always tie to — be it in joy or in sorrow. 
She never flies out without rhyme or reason 
and upsets all my plans, and hinders instead 
of helping me. No — Arabella never fails me 
— whatever other people do.” 

The widow Wall’s pale face flushed painfully 
and her dim eyes lit with the flash of jealousy 
that can light the dullest. But she said nothing 
for a moment, merely turned and looked at the 
sun on her door-step. 

“Yes,” she then said slowly and mildly. “I 
reckon she’s out of bed by this time. It’s past 
noon. Then I haven’t heard the cow lowing to 


123 


The Little Hills 


be milked for two hours or more. So most likely 
Arabella is up — though I haven’t heard her 
coaxing anybody to stop and do the milking for 
her — and I haven’t seen her driving the cow 
into the kitchen either. And she always does 
that when she has to do the milking herself. 
That’s to keep from being seen.” 

Mrs. Pottle whirled round : “ ’Pon my word, 
Jane Wall ! I should think that you — a church 
member — would be ashamed to run people down 
and backbite a neighbor — and one that never 
did you — or anybody else a mite of harm. But 
of course you and I can’t be expected to think 
alike about such matters. I always try to re- 
member that you were born and bred a Meth- 
odist. For of course that makes a great 
difference. It gives so much more latitude 
and longitude in religion than I was brought 
up to, that I’m bound to make allowance,” 
she said scathingly. 

“ Now just listen to you, Mandy Pottle,” 
cried the widow Wall with spirit. “ That’s the 
way you always fly off the handle about noth- 
ing. Who’s running down or backbiting I 
haven’t said a thing about Arabella that isn’t 
gospel truth — and you know it too — though 
124 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 

you pretend you don’t. But I can just tell 
you that Arabella don’t pull much wool over 
the squire’s eyes either.” 

“Well — I must say, Jane Wall, that you’re 
taking a good deal on yourself without being 
asked,” haughtily. “ Indeed I don’t need you — 
or anybody — to tell me what my own husband 
thinks about my true friend — or anything else.” 

“ That’s so. Of course you know it — just as 
well as I do — though you try to make out you 
don’t — because Arabella wheedles and honeys 
you up till you hardly know t’other from which. 
But I don’t see that that’s any reason why I 
shouldn’t say what’s true. And I’m a-going to 
do it too. For the squire told me with his own 
lips that after you had pestered him into buying 
back the pig that you’d pestered him into giv- 
ing Arabella, he had its meat put in a separate 
pile in his smoke-house — just for his own 
satisfaction — to see when she got it all again 
by borrowing one piece at a time. And 
she did — the very last bit of it — for he sazd 
so and I reckon even you won’t dispute the 
squires word.” 

“ Really — I don’t see what concern it is ” — 
Mrs. Pottle said with greater haughtiness. 

125 


The Little Hills 


The widow Wall broke in recklessly : “Now 
— there’s not the least use in your taking that 
high and mighty tone with me, Mandy Pottle. 
For it can’t keep me from being a better friend 
to you than Arabella ever dared be. She's 
nothing to me. What do I care if she does 
drive the cow into the kitchen ? ’Tain’t my 
kitchen nor my cow either. If it was, if you 
ever should pester the squire into giving me a 
cow — even a common old mulley let alone 
pasture for it in his finest clover field — I can 
truthfully say with my hand on my heart that / 
wouldn’t be ashamed to milk her. No, milking 
never seemed any real disgrace to me'' 

But Mrs. Pottle had reached the limit of her 
forbearance and now, disdaining to make any 
reply to this absurd outburst, she turned with 
silent dignity and walked on at a more rapid 
pace. She was in greater need of Arabella’s 
soothing sympathy than ever. Then she was 
already truly distressed by this estrangement 
from Phoebe. In truth it hurt her very much 
and she felt a positive pang when — gazing 
yearningly up the big road — she now caught a 
distant glimpse of a little figure in black mov- 
ing without apparent aim about the old garden. 

126 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


She paused, wondering why Phoebe should be 
wandering up and down the borders of spice 
pinks in that strange, restless way. It was all 
that she could do to keep from going to see 
what it meant. Never before had Phoebe done 
anything that she did not fully understand or 
think she did. The pang turned into a pain 
and she hurried on to talk the matter over with 
Arabella. For under the open purpose of the 
visit was a secret hope that this plausible lady 
— who lived by finding smooth ways around 
rough facts — might find some way to heal the 
breach between Phoebe and herself without her 
having to own that she had been in the wrong. 

It was a pity that she could not know the 
truth. For there was no bitter memory of the 
dispute in Phoebe’s gentle breast. Bitterness 
never found its way there. Indeed she did not 
even remember what had taken place. Her 
heart was too full of real troubles to leave room 
for imaginary ones. 

She had fled into the garden when she could 
bear no more and was still wandering up and 
down, trying to regain self-control. And it was 
now coming back for her heart was brave and 
her spirit strong, and when these two go to- 
127 


The Little Hills 


gether they are not easily or long cast down. 
So that after a while she felt able to return to 
the house and take up her task once more. 
She was remorseful that she had faltered — and 
nearly sunk — under it so soon. That should 
never happen again she said to herself quite 
sternly. She would be stronger and braver 
from this time on. There was a great deal to 
do and that helped her, as being busy does help 
all of us to bear much that could scarcely be 
borne at leisure. Doing this and that and run- 
ning here and there as Mother Rowan wished, 
the hours passed somehow and the sun went 
down at last. But Phoebe’s sweet face grew 
more and more weary though it never ceased 
smiling. And her soft eyes turned again and 
again to the golden crown that rested un- 
dimmed on the brow of the western hills. It 
seemed to her that the swallows were even 
later in circling than they had been on the 
evening before. And the martins were latest 
of all, flying high and low — mute birds of the 
deepest dusk — with only a single note which 
would have been harsh had it not foretold fair 
weather on the next day. That next day — and 
the next — and on to the unseen end!' With 


128 


The Neighbors and Their Ways 


this daunting thought Phoebe’s heart and spirit 
flagged a little. Then she saw the new minis- 
ter across the big road, looking at her with a 
smile. The light was fading, but she thought 
he smiled, and at once — most wonderfully — 
fresh courage and new strength came rushing 
to her. There was no more giving way on 
this first day. 


K 


129 


VIII 

ROLLING THE STONE UP-HILL 

And she awoke radiantly happy. For a 
sensitive nature reflects Nature’s moods and 
the martins had kept their promise. The 
emerald earth was flashing through a crystal 
morning. It was a little later than usual for 
her to get up and she dressed in great haste. 
Yet when she came out on the front porch 
she could not help stopping and standing 
still for a moment — to drink in all the beauty 
and sweetness. There were roses everywhere, 
the garden lay close by and the blooming clover 
fields not far off. The fresh fragrance was 
like some magic wine. She felt equal now to 
meeting any trials that might come. With a 
bright smile she turned and went along the 
passage to the dining, room, if the poor little 
corner of the old house in which the table 
stood might be called by so formal a name. 


130 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

The breakfast was ready and the table laid 
with care. That was a pleasant surprise and 
she turned to the cook in beaming gratitude. 
She thought it most kind of her to have taken 
all this trouble, considering her natural feeling 
toward an addition to the family which must 
greatly increase her work. Now the truth 
was that the cook had done everything for 
the express purpose of showing the intruders 
what she could do when she liked, so that they 
would know how much they missed when she 
never did it again. But of course Phoebe had 
no suspicion of any such deep duplicity. She 
believed everybody to be as sincere as she was 
herself. And she now thanked the cook so 
heartily that even that hardened deceiver felt 
rather ashamed for the moment. Then the 
little mistress said with the fine tact that a kind 
heart gives the simplest, that there was not a 
single thing left for her to do, unless it might 
be to get a bunch of spice pinks still spark- 
ling with dewdrops to put on the table. That 
would take only a moment, she gayly called 
back over her shoulder, darting into the 
garden. 

But that was just one moment too long. On 


The Little Hills 


coming back she found Mother Rowan already 
seated at the table, and looking highly indig- 
nant at having found no one to receive her. 
Even the sulky cook had retreated as far as the 
kitchen and now stood peeping at her through 
the half-open door. She merely nodded huffily 
in response to Phoebe’s greeting and apology 
and hardly looked up. Her snapping eyes 
were making a close and critical survey of the 
table. It was easy to see that she did not like 
what was on it, but she said nothing until 
Phoebe — in a nervous flurry — offered her the 
dish of eggs. 

“ No, thank you,” she said stiffiy, pursing up 
her mouth. “ I couldn’t think of beginning a 
day that’s bound to be as worrying as this day’s 
bound to be — by eating eggs fried on both 
sides,” she went on, raising her voice so that 
every word might be distinctly heard in the 
kitchen. “ According to my notion of cooking 
the only way to make a fried egg fit to go 
into a human stomach is to fry it on one side.” 

Phoebe sprang up and ran to shut the kitchen 
door but failed to reach it in time. 

The eavesdropper’s head popped through 
the space: “Yes, M’am. To be sure. Thank 


132 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

you, M’am, for telling me,” said the cook with 
withering sarcasm. “And are you very par- 
ticular which side ? ” 

That was a bad beginning and Phoebe made 
it worse by smiling herself. But she managed 
to turn her face away and she gave the cook an 
imploring look as she shut the kitchen door. 
Then, going back to her seat at the table, she 
admitted with disarming humility that there 
was room for improvement in her house- 
keeping. In the sweetest sincerity she said how 
grateful she would be for advice. With win- 
ning gentleness she pleaded that it had hardly 
seemed worth while to think much about the 
house or the food — while there had been no one 
except herself. But all this would be entirely 
different now — she beamed — with a real 
family of her very own to think for. 

It was pretty to see the light in her soft eyes 
and hear the pride in her sweet voice as she 
said this. Yet even as she promised that every- 
thing should be just as Mother Rowan wished, 
she could not help looking round with a start 
fearing lest the cook might have overheard. 
There was good reason to fear more trouble 
from that formidable source. Thus reminded, 


133 


The Little Hills 


Phoebe uneasily began to wonder how all the 
changes demanded were to be brought about 
without a violent breach of the domestic peace. 
She knew from experience that there was only 
one means of inducing the cook to do what she 
did not like. This was to give her something 
that she liked better than having her own way. 
And that was hard to do because she liked her 
own way so much that it was well-nigh impos- 
sible to find anything that she liked more. 
And the little mistress was poor though she 
had never realized the fact until this greatest 
emergency of her life — which had never been 
easy — had come upon her. 

With a gold piece or two, or even a few bits 
of silver the difficulty might perhaps have been 
overcome. But that whole community relied 
singularly little upon the coin of the realm. 
Phoebe had never had a gold piece, the cook 
had never seen one and neither the mistress 
nor the maid ever thought of having an extra 
penny. So that Phoebe could only think about 
her clothes and wonder what she had that the 
cook would have. She sighed, thinking of the 
meagre little row of plain black garments hang- 
ing against the white wall of the shed-room. 


134 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

The cook would not look at anything so 
sombre. Her Sunday plumage was as gay as 
that of a bird of paradise. Then Phoebe tried 
to recollect just what there was among her col- 
ored things’ which had been folded away when 
she had gone into mourning in the early spring. 
And so the thought of her fine white muslin 
strewn with moss rosebuds naturally crossed 
her mind. That was the prettiest thing she 
had ever had — or ever expected to have — 
and it lay now carefully folded at the very bot- 
tom of her hair-covered trunk, with delicate 
sprigs of sweet alyssum between the soft folds. 
But of course she did not think of giving that 
away. It was the very pride of her heart and 
its being laid aside for a year or two would 
make no difference in its beauty and fashion. 
No, she certainly had no thought of giving that 
away even to keep the peace. Yet in another 
moment a sudden fear came like an actually 
physical pain. What if the cook would not 
accept anything else ! 

While these troubled thoughts racked 
Phoebe’s perplexed head her brown eyes were 
wistfully gazing in the old woman’s face, and she 
was bravely doing her best to follow what she 
135 


The Little Hills 


said. But now — with this cruel fancy — her 
eyes grew so misty with unshed tears that she 
could not see and her heart beat so fast that 
she could hardly hear, and much that Mother 
Rowan said was lost. For in all seriousness 
it took the utmost strength of mind and body 
that poor little Phoebe had to submit to this 
supreme sacrifice. And let none of us make 
light of her struggle. For who among the 
strongest and bravest of us can give up his 
most cherished possession without a cruel 
wrench.'^ And this poor bit of painted muslin 
— a mere rosy cloud — was the most precious of 
her possessions. She went on miserably won- 
dering whether she was after all bound to make 
the sacrifice. For a moment she thought not, 
but in another moment she knew that there 
could be no turning from the steep path in 
which she had set her feet. The old people 
must be made happy. There was no other 
way to make up for the wrong she had done. 

Her eyes, brimming now and quite blind 
with tears, were still uplifted to meet the gaze 
of the sharp black ones, though they saw noth- 
ing but the rosebud muslin. Then suddenly 
she remembered how small it was and hastily 
136 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

glanced down at her own little figure thinking 
of the cook’s size and shape. With this the 
absurdity of it all touched her quick sense of 
humor. Instantly her wet eyes lit up and 
began dancing, and her pretty dimples darted 
out of their hiding-places and began playing. 
The change was so sudden that it startled 
Mother Rowan and led her to demand with 
increased huffiness, what there was in bad 
housekeeping to laugh at. 

It was lucky for Phoebe that Father Rowan 
called her just at that moment and she could 
run to see what he wanted. He already found 
many pretexts to call her and she was more 
than ready to respond. The instinctive liking 
between them grew fast. The merry twinkling 
of his kind eyes cheered her and he was em- 
boldened by her quick response. A love of 
simple fun is a great bond between guileless 
hearts. And it forges its strong tie all the 
more quickly when a heart that is naturally 
light happens to be as heavy as Phoebe’s was 
now. Then there were other and more subtle 
things drawing them together — things that 
both felt and neither understood. For her full 
heart fairly ached with its yearning to lavish 
137 


The Little Hills 


love and service — which makes the whole hap- 
piness of a nature like hers. And his empty 
heart was actually starved by its craving for sym- 
pathy and tenderness — which he had sought 
his whole life through and never found before. 
Their meeting was the coming together of food 
and hunger, of drink and thirst. No wonder 
then that they became friends at sight, and 
that they instantly and unconsciously entered 
into a conspiracy against the Oppressor. 

Phoebe could hardly have told what made 
her think Father Rowan the victim of too strict 
a discipline. And she knew from the outset 
that whatever Mother Rowan exacted was 
wholly for his good — or that firm lady thought 
so — which amounted to the same thing in his 
present helpless condition. Yet knowing this 
only caused her to feel wicked when she helped 
him break his wife’s wise rules : it did not pre- 
vent her giving him whatever he wanted as 
nearly as she could. On this second morning 
she aided him in rebellion. Mother Rowan 
had hardly gone into the garden to see how 
much more room there would be for vegetables 
if all the flowers were pulled up, when Father 
Rowan asked Phoebe to give him his pipe 
138 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

which had been purposely put out of reach. 
And she not only gave it to him — - laughing de- 
lightedly — but ran to fetch some of her uncle’s 
fine tobacco. Worst of all, she also brought 
him a handful of ruby-red plums, though she 
had heard his wife forbid him to eat a morsel 
of fresh fruit. 

“ Quick ! ” she cried merrily : “ I saw them 
as I ran through the kitchen — where the 
cook’s making jelly. They are very sweet 
and ripe.” 

“ Won’t she catch us } ” asked the old man 
chuckling yet eating as fast as he could. 

“Wait — I’ll see,” said Phoebe going to the 
back window. “No — not if you make haste. 
She’s way over at the other side of the garden. 
But hurry — or there won’t be time for your 
pipe,” she added, quickly filling it with her own 
little fingers which had not lost their skill : 
“ There now — be quick.” 

The old man swallowed the last of the plums 
almost whole and eagerly seizing the pipe, 
began forthwith to take long deep pulls of 
complete content. 

Phoebe hung over him breathing the smoke 
and enjoying it almost as much as he did ; 

139 


The Little Hills 


“ My ! — It does smell sweet ! And it’s so long 
since I’ve been near anybody that smoked. 
Uncle’s tobacco always smelt like a flower. 
Smelling it now brings back the last summer 
evenings when we used to sit on the porch 
together. I wasn’t lonely then.” 

She patted his shoulder with yearning affec- 
tion. He sank deeper among the soft cush- 
ions with infinite satisfaction. They were both 
very happy, far happier than either had been 
for many a day. But nothing more was said 
until they heard a firm footstep on the end of 
the front porch. Then the old man hurriedly 
gave her the pipe and wiped his mouth with 
the back of his hand in guilty haste. She 
flew to put the pipe in its place on the high 
mantelpiece which she could barely reach by 
standing on tiptoe. Flying back to his side 
she suddenly realized that the room was full of 
the sweet-smelling smoke. There was no hasty 
way to hide that. She looked around in dis- 
may. For the footsteps which had halted but 
for a moment came on. The old shoulder 
shrunk under her hand and she thought it 
trembled a little top. Her tender heart for- 
got fear for herself. 

140 


Rolling the Stone Up-hill 

“ Never mind,” she whispered. “ It was my 
fault. Leave it to me. I’ll take the whole 
blame.” 

But Mother Rowan did not notice the smoke. 
She was a singularly one-idead person and her 
mind was absorbed by something more im- 
portant. Coming in she merely gave her 
husband the usual glance of general disap- 
proval. She had always been almost as ex- 
acting with him as with herself in all matters 
of duty and conscience. But she had never 
been able to bring him quite up to her own 
Spartan standard until he had broken his leg. 
That mishap had greatly weakened his power 
of resistance and had totally taken away his 
former means of escape. So that after years of 
futile striving, she now held him in such merci- 
less bondage as only the fanatically conscien- 
tious would ever dream of trying to impose 
upon the incurably irresponsible. 

There came a smothered growl and a defiant 
look even out of his limbo. But Mother Rowan 
was too much absorbed to notice these either. 
Going straight to the tottering old wardrobe 
she took out her queer bonnet and her rusty 
veil and put them on, scorning a glimpse in 


The Little Hills 


the mirror. Then she whirled round and faced 
the two culprits. 

“ What’s the reason you haven’t got yours on 
already ? ” she demanded snapping her eyes at 
Phoebe. “ It’s high time. The sun will get 
hot toward noon. And I never believe in 
shilly-shally anyhow. When a thing’s got to 
be done I always believe in doing it right 
off the reel. So Fm a-going — you can go or 
not as you like.” 

“ Where ” faltered Phoebe bewildered. “ I 
didn’t know we were going anywhere — ” 

“ Well, I don’t see why you didn’t ! ” said 
Mother Rowan, tartly. “ I shouldn’t think 
you — or anybody else — would need to be 
told that I’m not the sort of stepmother to sit 
down and take my ease in this house, or any 
other, without knowing where my stepson’s 
buried.” 

“ Oh ! ” Phoebe began to tremble but she 
said steadily enough that she would go at 
once, just as soon as she could get her bonnet. 

“And your crape veil too — if you’ve got 
one,” Mother Rowan called after her as she 
ran along the porch to the shed-room. 


142 


IX 

AN EARLY ORDEAL 

Nobody, knowing that remote spot and its 
set ways, would have doubted that Phoebe had 
a veil and wore it strictly according to rule. 
Everybody there always did that in everything. 
Moreover there was one particular veil which 
might have been said to belong to the entire 
feminine community. At all events it had 
been worn in turn by every lady who had gone 
into black for years and years back. Indeed 
had any one among them thought of buying a 
veil of her own, she would have been considered 
almost as exclusive as she was extravagant. 

Most likely none of this famous veil’s more 
recent wearers could have told how old it was, 
or where it had come from originally, or whose 
it had been in the first place. It had been pub- 
lic property too long for anybody to remember. 
But everybody who was old enough knew that 


143 


The Little Hills 


it had been worn many years before by the 
widow Wall. That fact had been made memo- 
rable by the general surprise that — under the 
circumstances — she should have felt like going 
into such deep mourning. It had hardly been 
expected that she would mourn at all, poor 
soul. And she herself, being as sincere then 
as always, had not pretended anything that she 
could not feel. She had merely said with an 
honest sigh of relief that what she had had to 
put up with was now past and gone. Then let 
bygones be bygones. But duty was duty — just 
the same — she had added loyally, declaring 
that her own feelings should never prevent the 
doing of hers. “ No ; ” she had said cheerfully: 
“ I won’t pretend to be sorry, but I will wear 
the veil just to show a suitable resentment.” 

And wear it she did and for a long time too, 
so long indeed that the other ladies grew un- 
easy and began to wonder how they were ever 
going to get her to take it off. There was 
always a little anxiety lest some one else should 
need it while it was in use. Then it certainly 
was not right that any one wearer should wear 
it out. And all the ladies could see that the 
veil was becoming almost as limp as the widow 


144 


An Early Ordeal 

Wall’s own things. Yet the subject was a 
delicate one and not easy to approach. Even 
Mrs. Pottle who rarely hesitated hardly knew 
what to do and she was greatly concerned feel- 
ing her responsibility. For she was naturally 
the custodian of the veil as of everything else 
belonging to the community. Finally she 
called a secret meeting at her own house, to 
discuss ways and means for saving the veil 
without wounding the tender sensibilities of 
the widow Wall. The ladies talked the matter 
over thoroughly, but not one of them was will- 
ing to speak to her about it. They all liked 
and felt sorry for her because of her trials. 
And she, wholly unaware of the public’s uneasi- 
ness, had innocently gone on wearing the veil 
till old Mrs. Crabtree, suddenly and unasked, 
solved the problem out of hand as she did most 
things, and without consulting anybody. 

She cared nothing for the veil nor the widow 
Wall either for that matter. But of course she 
knew of the conclave — as she knew of every- 
thing that went on — though she had not been 
invited and cared too little to be miffed at 
being left out. It was merely on a sudden, 
idle impulse that she hailed the squire one day 
L 145 


The Little Hills 


— as he drove by on the stroke of the clock as 
he always did — and asked him clear across the 
big road why the veil was like charity. The 
heartless jest meant nothing worse than that 
the widow Wall was a bit untidy. She knew this 
and also knew that it was true. But that did 
not make it hurt any the less, since she — poor 
thing — was much like the rest of us and we 
are all most hurt by the truth. 

The sting of it had spurred her to greater 
energy than she had ever been known to show 
before or since. She never wore the veil again 
and had at once set about doing what she could 
to restore its freshness. There were regular 
and elaborate rules for doing this. These she 
had carried out to the letter, finally pinning the 
veil on her bed to dry. When it had dried she 
had rolled it round the nice clean piece of 
broomstick which always went along with the 
veil, to prevent creases from folding after it 
had been newly stiffened. 

“And it’s just as stiff as it ought to be — 
not a mite stiffer — let that old game-maker 
say what she’s a mind to,” the widow Wall 
had said proudly, looking for her denuded 
bonnet. The sight of it had made her sigh, 
146 


An Early Ordeal 

yet nevertheless she had tied its shabby 
strings quite firmly under her pointed chin 
and had set off at once down the big road 
waving the crape-wound broomstick like a 
grewsome wand. For she wanted everybody 
to see that the veil was going back as good 
as new. Drawing near old Mrs. Crabtree’s 
window — which was called the watch-tower — 
she had gone beyond the shade and had 
taken the heat of the sun, rather than risk 
not being seen through the low boughs. She 
had looked straight ahead too ignoring the 
old lady’s friendly nod. All that she had 
asked of anybody just then was to take 
notice that she was doing her whole duty, 
and that the veil was ready for the next 
wearer. 

It would be hard to tell how many these 
wearers were first and last. For they were 
not merely the widows of whom there could 
be only a few in so small a place. Nor were 
they confined to the old houses standing be- 
neath the older trees. The veil’s sad service 
went much farther than the limits of the 
hamlet. Its dark shadow sometimes fell clear 
across the wide green fields, stretching even 
147 


The Little Hills 


beyond the high green hills. For it is still 
another Law of Life, that the widest fields 
and the highest hills can never shut in the 
ever lengthening Shadow. 

And so, after all these years, it had come 
at last to cover poor little Phoebe’s curly head. 
She was wearing it just as all the others had 
worn it except that she was so very small 
and the veil was so very large. Its long folds 
fell nearly to her feet quite concealing her little 
figure. Indeed as she came out of the shed- 
room swathed in it on that June morning, she 
looked like a large-eyed child, frightened by 
the darkness of a woman’s sorrow. But she 
was not thinking of her own looks or of herself 
at all, as she ran along the porch and out to 
the gate. For she saw that Mother Rowan 
was already standing there waiting, with an 
indignant protest in every angle of her angular 
back. Phoebe was afraid to say anything had 
she known what to say. But she hastily lifted 
the latch and stood back while Mother Rowan 
passed through and they set off under the 
trees along the big road. 

It appeared to be deserted. There was no 
one in sight and the sole sound that broke the 

148 


An Early Ordeal 

sunny stillness was the singing of the larks 
in the meadows. But Phoebe was not de- 
ceived for a moment. She knew as well as if 
she had been able to see them, that all the 
neighbors were watching through the morning- 
glories which covered their front porches. 
And she knew that it was only natural that 
they should wish to get a look at a stranger 
whose coming had caused such a stir. She 
did not blame them in the least, especially as 
very few had had even a distant glimpse of the 
newcomers on the day before. The stage had 
come earlier than they had expected. For 
some mysterious reason it always did come 
either earlier or later than anybody was looking 
for it, whenever there was any special interest 
in its arrival. Sometimes this was so marked 
and so trying, that some of them half thought 
that Hilleiy Kibbey did it on purpose to give 
himself still greater importance. But nobody 
really believed anything of the kind because 
Hillery was always good-nature itself, and 
nothing could possibly have made him of more 
importance than he was anyway. 

Knowing all this made Phoebe feel very ill at 
ease. She could not help glancing nervously 


X49 


The Little Hills 


toward the morning-glories and then quickly up 
at the gaunt, tall figure and the strange, small 
head towering above her own. Yet with this 
single swift glance her tender conscience smote 
her tenderer heart. She felt ashamed of caring 
— even for an instant — for what the neighbors 
might think or say. What could it matter! 
Looks were of very small consequence when a 
woman was as good as she knew Mother Rowan 
to be. As Phoebe said this to herself there was 
a quick toss of the pretty head under the crape 
veil and it was suddenly held higher. If the 
neighbors did not know how good Mother 
Rowan was — how noble and unselfish her whole 
life had been — then she would tell them and 
before that very sun went down too. Think- 
ing this she loyally drew closer to her silent 
companion’s side, almost forgetting to be afraid. 
Then she made up her mind to talk so that the 
keenest eyes following them might see that she 
was quite happy and wholly at ease. She was 
already rather out of breath trying to keep up 
with Mother Rowan’s long stride, but she began 
talking at once with all the voice and spirit she 
could muster. And feeling that she had been 
harsh in her judgment, the very first thing she 

150 


An Early Ordeal 

said was about the kindness of the neighbors. 
There never were kinder people anywhere in 
the whole world, she declared with all her 
heart. Possibly the squire and Mrs. Pottle 
might be a little kinder than the others but 
that, she said warmly, was only because they 
had more to be kind with. Then she spoke 
fervently of Mrs. Pottle’s goodness to herself, 
wishing that she could stop and see her with- 
out the least consciousness of any change in 
their relations. But they were passing Ara- 
bella’s now and of course Phoebe spoke with 
enthusiasm of Mrs. Pottle’s goodness to the 
Argonaut’s lady. 

“ And the squire is just as kind though he’s 
always laughing at her in that queer, dry way 
of his,” Phoebe sighed while she smiled. “ It’s 
a real shame. I don’t see how he or anybody can 
have the heart to make fun of Arabella. It’s 
all so pitiful. My aunt laughs about her rub- 
bing her cheeks with rose leaves. But they 
really do give a lovely color — if you rub hard 
enough. And Arabella is very much afraid of 
getting pale. She says her husband thought 
she had a beautiful complexion and she can’t 
bear to have him find any change when he 


The Little Hills 


comes back. But the saddest thing of all is 
that some people think he never will come. 
Some even think he’s dead — that he died long 
ago. It’s been years and years since Arabella 
had a letter or heard one word. But she will 
not listen to anything of the kind and doesn’t 
lose heart at all. She’s always sure that his 
letter will come in the very next mail — if he 
doesn’t come himself.” 

She turned suddenly and pushed back the 
veil trying to see whether her companion was 
interested or even listening. But she could 
not tell for Mother Rowan was looking away 
toward the distant hills. Yet all those keen 
eyes were still watching through the morning- 
glories and she had to go on : 

“ That’s why Arabella’s always dressed up in 
the very best she can get — as if for a party. 
She says it would break her heart not to be 
looking her prettiest if the captain should come 
when least expected. So that the only way to be 
ready at any minute is to dress up in her finest 
clothes every day, the whole year round and 
year after year, and sit there by the window — 
waiting and watching — always looking the way 
the Argonauts went,” she said with a sudden 

IS2 


An Early Ordeal 

uneasy side glance, chilled by the lack of 
any response. Then she went on still more 
timidly: “Sometimes I can hardly bear to see 
her there — ” 

“ She’d a sight better get out of that chair 
and stir round and clean up her house. I’ll lay 
it needs it,” Mother Rowan broke in. “ For my 
part I’ve always found that with plenty of work 
to do there’s no time to mope. And I never 
had any patience with moping — though I’ve 
had some disappointment to bear myself — ” 

“ Oh — but she doesn't'' protested Phoebe. 
“ She’s as light-hearted as can be — never sad 
a moment — as I said just now. She has a 
smile and something lively to say to everybody 
that goes by. And indeed there isn’t a busier 
woman in the whole neighborhood. Why.! 
she sews the whole time while she sits there ex- 
pecting the captain any minute. You’d never 
know Mrs. Pottle’s things after Arabella makes 
them over. And I do wish you could see the 
crimped ruffles on the petticoats that she wears 
every day. They are so dainty that nobody 
can do them up but Mrs. Pottle’s parlor maid.” 

“ What’s the reason she can’t do ’em up her- 
self — if she’s bound to have ’em } " 


153 


The Little Hills 


“ Who ? A rabella ? ” 

Then she waited, thinking that she could not 
have heard aright. However nothing more 
was said and they walked on in silence for a 
while. But the constraint grew with every 
step till Phoebe was too much frightened to 
endure it any longer, and helplessly took up the 
same subject because she could think of no 
other less likely to offend. And having taken 
it up she talked on because she was afraid to 
stop. 

“ Some people do think Arabella is a little 
lazy — but that is a great mistake,” she began 
timidly. “ It’s true that she never gets up 
early, but that is because she sits up so late — 
thinking the captain may come in the night- 
time. Sometimes I wake and see the light of 
her candle in the window shining far down 
the big road. Somehow it makes my heart 
ache. The widow Wall says that she went 
over there one night just to find out for once 
what Arabella was a-doing, so long after every- 
body else was a-bed and asleep, and found her 
ironing out the pretty blue ribbon bows that 
she always wears on her nightgown. She just 
laughed — bright and happy as could be — and 


154 


An Early Ordeal 

told the widow Wall that blue was for true — 
and that she wasn’t going to be caught with 
mussed ribbons looking plain and dowdy — no 
matter what time of night the captain might 
come. And maybe he wouldn’t wait for the 
stage — she half thought he would not.” 

She broke off turning very red, feeling much 
embarrassed and wholly unable to tell whether 
Mother Rowan’s loud scornful sniff was in- 
tended for Arabella or herself. At all events 
it made her feel as if she had said some- 
thing improper. 

“ What do you suppose I care for all that 
foolishness,” demanded Mother Rowan abruptly, 
turning with fiercely snapping eyes. “ What’s 
this Arabella woman to me ? I don’t want to 
hear anything about her. I want to hear about 
poor William’s funeral.” 

Phoebe could not speak at once. The men- 
tion of that name always struck her dumb, and 
set her quivering as if something icy had 
touched her warm heart. But she strove with 
all her might and — gathering courage — 
managed somehow to tell all that could be 
told in words. When the telling began she 
paused unconsciously and Mother Rowan also 

155 


The Little Hills 


stood still. They were now well up the hill- 
side and could look down and far over the 
fields which had been so tenderly green on 
that day of early spring, and which were 
richly golden now and rippling softly as the 
shadows swam after the sunbeams through 
the shining seas of ripened grain. But 
Phoebe’s eyes were too full of tears to see any- 
thing except the memory that her faint words 
brought back. And then Mother Rowan 
moved on saying there was no need to waste 
time in talking, that they could talk just as well 
walking along. Thus they went forward and 
climbed to the very top of the high hill and 
passed through the little gate of the graveyard 
and crossed it — that utter desolation of a coun- 
try burial-place — to the farther side where the 
grass was greener and shorter, so that the wind 
did not sigh through it quite so mournfully, and 
where the three graves lay under the caressing 
branches of the silvery beech. 

“ Here he lies,” breathed Phoebe. “ That’s 
his grave — the longest one. See how close — 
how very close to my father and mother.” 

For a moment her sad eyes sank down to 
the mound of mortality, but a sudden sound 
156 


An Early Ordeal 

from Mother Rowan caused her to look up. 
The expression of that strange, small face 
startled and alarmed her. Before she could 
think what it meant a raging torrent of wrath 
burst from those whitened lips. Shocked and 
overwhelmed by the unexpectedness and vio- 
lence of the outburst, she recoiled and stood 
in quivering silence blindly putting out her 
hand to the tree. She had a confused sense 
of being swept into depths that she had never 
sounded — of being cast upon cruel rocks that 
she could not see. For a while it was all 
bewildered pain and terror, all utterly beyond 
comprehension. Her clearest feeling was that 
this terrible stranger with the convulsed face 
surely must be mad. She desperately looked 
round for some means of escape. But her 
terrified gaze went back to those blazing eyes 
as the fierce words began to assume bitter 
meaning. 

“There! There — there under that fence ! ” 
cried Mother Rowan almost in a shriek. 
“You’ve put him in a little out-of-the-way 
place like that — where I can’t get at him! 
You’ve penned him up in a little corner where 
there’s no room to set up a shingle with his 


157 


The Little Hills 


name on it — much less the large, handsome 
tombstone that I’ve bought for him with my 
hard-earned money. That’s what you’ve done 
for him! And just to spite me! How’d you 
dare? You didn’t bring him up like your 
own son, yet you’ve come — interfering — be- 
tween me and him — like this — after all these 
years. How’d you dare ! I had set my heart 
on putting that stone at his head, so that I 
might be sure of doing my best from first to 
last — sure of being able to stand out before 
the common run of stepmothers and say so — 
when I come to face the Bar on the Day of 
Judgment.” 

Phoebe let go the bough by which she was 
holding herself up and sank down to the grass. 
Faint and sick, she was too much frightened 
to attempt to defend herself had she known in 
the least what to say or even understood. She 
covered her white face with her trembling 
hands and wept as if her heart must surely 
break. After this came a tense silence broken 
only by her helpless sobbing. Had she been 
less overcome, less awed and able to lift her 
head or see through her blinding tears, she 
would have seen that Mother Rowan was weep- 
158 


An Early Ordeal 

ing too. For her gaunt frame was shaken by 
the fierce, bitter grief of the hardly moved. 
And that is always fiercer and bitterer than 
any feeling that the easily touched can ever 
know. To the narrow-minded and one-idead 
every defeat must be a tragedy, for the reason 
that to them the missing of a single aim means 
more often than not the loss of everything 
worth having or doing in life. And so it was 
now with this stern, honest, strenuous soul. 
She had lost the one thing that she really 
prized, the privilege of paying her stepson a 
last honor which all might see. It was not 
that she loved him. Love was not in her 
nature to give nor in his to inspire. But this 
hard, unloving service had been from first to 
last the highest thing that she could see — the 
one lofty, white shining peak — lifting above 
the dreary level of her humble existence. And 
its very pinnacle was to have been marked by 
this great white stone — for which she had 
given all that she had in the whole world. 


159 


X 

THE RESCUE 

At last even the sobs ceased and in the 
strained stillness the crackling of a dry twig 
sounded very loud. Phoebe looked up with a 
start and saw the new minister coming round 
an evergreen. There was no time to recover 
herself for he was barely a rod away. But she 
sprang to her feet brushing the crushed grass 
from her skirt, and bravely did her best to meet 
him as though nothing had happened. She 
could not control the big tears still clinging to 
her long lashes, nor stop the quivering of her 
lips for all their brave smiling. And the flush 
that flew over her pale face did nothing to con- 
ceal its distress. So that the little smile which 
she managed to give him was a most wistfully 
piteous one. 

It went straight to his heart. Indeed the 

i6o 


The Rescue 


very first glimpse of her had done that. Never- 
theless he was sorry for having come, sorry that 
he had not stayed unseen on the other side of 
the evergreen or gone away without intruding. 
For he suddenly felt guilty of an unpardonable 
intrusion. Perhaps it was the way Mother 
Rowan looked at him, the open hostility with 
which she squared herself that made him feel 
this. Certainly nothing could have been more 
unmistakable than the challenge of her look. 
The rudest words could not have demanded 
his business more sharply than those snapping 
black eyes. But he hardly noticed them. He 
saw only that shrinking little figure in black ; 
only that appealing little face which quickly 
paled again under his intent gaze; only that 
sweet little mouth still so sensitively a-quiver 
though trying hard to smile steadily ; only 
those tender little hands fluttering like fright- 
ened white birds, till he could hardly help 
taking them and holding them in protecting 
tenderness. 

Yet there was nothing for him to do except 
stammer out such a confused apology as he was 
able to offer: “We happened to be passing — 
my aunt gnd I/’ he said hesitatingly. “We 

M l6l 


The Little Hills 


have been to the woods on the other side of 
the hill. And seeing you — that is — I thought 
that perhaps you weren’t well and might need 
some assistance.” 

“Well, we don’t,” broke in Mother Rowan 
tartly. “ Neither of you need stay another 
minute on our account. You — and your aunt 
— can go right along home.” 

It was not easy for Phoebe to introduce them 
after that but she did — somehow — and man- 
aged moreover to say that he and his aunt were 
very kind. 

“ There she is now,” he said quickly, turning 
with an air of relief. “ She’s just over there 
beyond that evergreen. Here Aunt Alice!” 
raising his voice. “ This way — here we are.” 

Then the three of them stood silent for a 
moment looking at Miss Dale. She was not 
far away and had come in sight, but made no 
response nor a sign that she was aware of their 
presence. Drawing nearer to a trumpet-vine 
which had overrun a dead tree-trunk she 
paused to look at it. And indeed it was well 
worth looking at — this wonderful and beauti- 
ful symbol of life after death — this marvellous 
growth and magnificent flowering out of mortal 

162 


The Rescue 


dust. But Miss Dale was not thinking about 
anything of that kind, nor even of the rich 
green foliage with its splendid scarlet flowers. 
She was merely wondering why these flaming 
trumpets were swarming with myriads of small 
red ants. She was trying to find out where 
they came from and what they were doing. 
But she left off at her nephew’s second call. 
There were very few things that she would 
not give up for him — temporarily. Meeting 
Phoebe halfway with cordially extended hand 
she really seemed to see her for a moment. 
Then she went toward Mother Rowan — gently 
shoved by the minister — and fully meant to 
shake hands with her too. But there was no 
meeting halfway this time and she forgot every- 
thing in watching a bird’s singing flight. 

“ Look, John,” she cried instantly all alive 
with interest. “ Run round that tree and try 
to see where it goes. Did you notice where 
it came from ? Maybe its nest is somewhere 
near — and I can get a look at the eggs. I’d 
like to have one on my string.” 

Mother Rowan moved off and stood grimly 
squaring herself, scorning even silent indorse- 
ment of such folly. “ At her age too — older’n 

163 


The Little Hills 


I am — gray as a badger — and a-cutting such 
capers,” she muttered. 

This was all lost so far as Miss Dale was 
concerned but it made Phoebe uneasy. Her 
brown eyes were very anxious indeed — till they 
met the new minister’s and saw how frankly 
his gray ones were smiling. Then hers began 
dancing though they were not quite dry — 
there was the prettiest flutter of dimples — and 
the last trace of embarrassment vanished like 
light clouds under a burst of sunshine. All at 
once they both felt unaccountably at ease and 
happy. Neither could have told how or why 
it was, for neither knew anything of the mi- 
raculous change that love can bring about 
in the space of the lightning’s flash. Not 
a thought of falling in love had crossed her 
mind, it was too deeply absorbed in penance 
for not loving. And he was barely beginning 
to believe that he loved her; he had not been 
able to see her often enough to feel quite sure. 
Nevertheless a pair of strong, clear gray eyes 
and a pair of shy, sweet brown ones can say 
and hear a great deal in one swift meeting 
with a speedy parting. And theirs had spoken 
and responded as frankly and freely as honest, 
164 


The Rescue 


innocent eyes ever did. There was a new 
brightness in hers and she smiled gayly while 
he laughed aloud for pure happiness, in turn- 
ing now to see what the old ladies were 
doing. 

As they looked back Miss Dale came round 
the tree and absently linked her arm in Mother 
Rowan’s for no other reason than that it was 
at hand, and calmly unconscious that it be- 
longed to an iron image of scorn. However, 
the touch on the rigid arm seemed to bring 
it to life, and Mother Rowan at once stalked 
off down the hillside with no more notice of 
Miss Dale than if she had been an empty 
basket hanging on her arm. And she did 
not pause or even glance back when the hand 
suddenly let go to chase some other atom of 
life that crept or flew. 

It was a sight to make the soberest smile 
but Phoebe’s soft heart would not let her laugh 
long. “ It doesn’t seem quite kind or respect- 
ful,” she said vaguely. 

“ Well, it’s certainly absurd,” he said. “ Sci- 
ence itself can never make the chase of bugs 
and butterflies anything else in grown people, 
and Aunt Alice hasn’t much notion of being 
165 


The Little Hills 


scientific. Still, after all I suppose, this form 
of the mania — the one that she suffers from 
doesn’t do any actual harm.” 

“ Except to the poor butterflies,” said Phoebe 
thinking of the row of frail little bodies that 
she had seen cruelly pinned on the parsonage 
wall. 

He shook his head : “We can only hope that 
they don’t feel a pang as great as when a giant 
dies. But I can’t see how we are to know. 
There seems to be no way to get the butter- 
flies’ own point of view,” he went on laughing 
and growing serious in the same breath. “ In- 
deed the matter is rather a problem with me. 
Not on the victim’s account. I’m afraid I don’t 
think much about that. The thing perplexing 
me is my own responsibility.” 

She looked up surprised and made grave by 
his sudden gravity. 

“You see it’s like this. My aunt cares for 
nothing else — except myself — and never has 
felt any interest in anything but nature study in 
her whole life so far as I know. Yet she will 
give up even that — temporarily and partly — for 
me, and it does seem ungrateful and selfish on 
my side not to feel and show some sympathy 

i66 


The Rescue 


with the only thing that she really cares for — 
outside myself — yet I can’t. Sometimes I try 
to pretend but she always finds me out. Fm 
such a poor pretender,” he said more lightly. 
“ Then — to tell the whole truth — I am actually 
afraid to have anything to do with nature study.” 

Her brown eyes were very wide indeed now, 
and again lifted to his face. 

He looked down at her in the half-earnest, 
half-jesting way that she had already learned 
to like and was fast beginning to understand : 
“ Because Fm a minister and pledged to the 
service of my own kind.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean.” 

“That loving Nature more makes us love 
Humanity less.” 

“ How in the world can that be ? I don’t 
believe it — nor that you do either,” she said 
with shy gayety. 

“In all earnestness — yes — I do. And so 
would you if you were to think about the 
matter and look into it as I have done.” 

She wondered silently and her uplifted face 
no longer smiled. 

“ Of course you know that I am not speak- 
ing of our full appreciation — 3^ours and mine 
167 


The Little Hills 


— of those golden fields and these wild flowers 
and that butterfly’s gorgeous beauty,” he said. 
“We would be poor creatures — and blind ones 
too — without that. The thing that I mean is 
something quite different. I am speaking of 
that curiously intolerant, imperviously selfish, 
narrowly self-sufficient being called a Natural- 
ist. Why, in order even to gain that doubtful 
title he must draw away from the brotherhood 
of man — clear out of sympathy with it — and 
go all alone nosing after Nature. And his 
pursuit of her through a lifetime has never — 
in my judgment — brought any real benefit to 
mankind. So standing aloof he strikes a pose of 
superiority and — shirking all that he owes to 
humanity — looks down on his fellow-creatures’ 
hardest striving. That’s the attitude of the 
Naturalist. There’s only one exception so far 
as I know. White of Selborne was a good 
man. But I can’t help thinking that his 
parishioners must have had cause of com- 
plaint. And worst of all is the Naturalists’ 
unsleeping, undying jealousy. They seem to 
decry and distrust each other rather more than 
the rest of mankind. Indeed they seldom 
admit each other’s love. As for anything like 
1 68 


The Rescue 


a real intimacy on the part of another with the 
Lady-love — perish the presumption ! It’s only 
when a Naturalist dies that the others grant 
him even a passing acquaintance with Nature.” 

“Surely — ” protested Phoebe. “That can- 
not be true. There are valuable facts about 
plants and animals.” 

His smiling gaze bantered her. “ Well, the 
Naturalist has pried out of a few of his lady- 
love’s secrets that may be useful to his brother. 
But I can’t name one just now. And to serve 
his fellow-man was certainly not the object of 
the search. At all events I am quite sure that 
he never has said a kind word for his brother 
or his sister either. He caiH, you see ! He’s 
compelled to belittle humanity’s dues and deny 
its demands, in order to justify his own shame- 
less neglect of duty to his kind. But that 
sounds like preaching and this is vacation for 
both of us.” 

She pressed the point, unwilling to let it go 
so dimly understood. 

He took a slip of paper from his pocket: 
“ This admits — in a great Naturalist’s own 
words — the very charge that I have just made. 
It comes from a new book written by a man 
169 


The Little Hills 


named Thoreau. Listen carefully — for this is 
much better said than I could say it: ‘After 
all what does the practicalness of life amount 
to ? The things immediate to be done are 
very trivial. I could postpone them all to 
hear this locust sing.’ There ! That's what I 
mean. Think of coming under such an in- 
fluence. Do you still wonder that I fear it } 
For you must remember that there is a special 
obligation upon me — and all my cloth — to 
work for our faith and for humanity with head 
and hands as well as heart and soul.” 

She murmured that perhaps the writer did 
not mean just what he had said. 

“ Perhaps not,” he granted, smiling. “ But 
that is their tone and pose. They live to 
celebrate the turning of a polliwog into a frog, 
and to ridicule man’s bravest climbing over the 
little hills of life.” 


170 


XI 


MRS. CRABTREE’S CALL 

Of course they were seen coming as well as 
going. There could be no unseen passing 
over the big road in daylight. The kind peo- 
ple living in the old houses under the great 
trees felt too great an interest in their good 
neighbors for that. Then there was so little 
to see that anybody’s going by made an event. 
But it was not often that such a visible, audi- 
ble flutter flew along the entire leafy length 
of the street, as now fluttered after this little 
group. 

It had been strange and unexpected enough 
to see Phoebe start out so early in the morning. 
The good housekeepers were so taken by sur- 
prise at first that they could hardly believe their 
own eyes. They all instinctively turned and 
looked at the morning-glories, those floral 
clocks which are never wrong when the sun 
shines. There was no mistake, the transparent 
171 


The Little Hills 


blue bugles were still blowing silently even on 
the sunniest side of the front porches. In the 
shady fence corners plenty of primroses too 
were still wide open — and every golden cup 
brimming with dew. Thrusting the vines 
aside, the housewives shook their puzzled heads 
at one another. What in the world could 
Phoebe mean ? The beds were not yet made, 
not even Mrs. Pottle’s and her house was 
always in perfect order before anybody else 
had begun to sweep. Then she had many 
servants while Phoebe had only one, a sulky 
cook who never did anything that she could 
help and with the two newcomers now to wait 
upon. Puzzled and disapproving comments 
were exchanged in low tones through the 
morning-glories over the whitewashed fences 
after Phoebe and Mother Rowan had gone 
beyond hearing. 

But most of the ladies were still busy with 
their own household duties, and the general 
excitement lulled till Phoebe’s return caused it 
to break out afresh and even more violently 
than before. Indeed a head came quite through 
the morning-glories here and there and the 
neighbors rarely forgot their manners so far 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


as that. But then the boughs hung so low as 
quite to cut off the view at the turn of the big 
road. And so they could hardly credit what 
they saw — looking straight at the three ladies 
and the gentleman now in sight. For none 
of them knew the new minister very well. He 
had kept to himself in a way that they were 
unused to and did not like. Most of them 
would have said that Phoebe hardly knew him 
at all. Yet there he and she came, walking 
down the big road side by side laughing and 
talking, with his head bent very close to hers. 
No wonder that the morning-glories were flutter- 
ing as if suddenly stirred by the wings of many 
startled birds. And close behind were the min- 
ister’s queer aunt whom they all called “ a fly- 
up-the-creek ” — and who looked like a blurred 
ambrotype — peering vaguely into the fence cor- 
ners ; and the tall stranger with the small head 
and the grim face — who walked like a soldier 
— never once glancing beyond her own straight 
path. Some of the spectators were thrown so 
far off their polite balance as to think of fol- 
lowing the party to Phoebe’s house, in order 
to find out what it meant. But in another 
moment they knew that this would never do. 


173 


The Little Hills 


And then there was Mrs. Pottle who had not 
given a sign of what she intended in regard 
to these new relations of Phoebe’s. 

So that nobody dared move in the matter till 
the spirit of contrariness suddenly seized old 
Mrs. Crabtree. She had hardly thought of her 
niece’s grave undertaking beyond laughing at 
it. But she happened to be more idle and 
bored than usual that day — sitting beside the 
open window — when she saw Phoebe and those 
who were with her. And she noticed the 
agitation of the morning-glories that followed 
their passing. In the dearth of any other enter- 
tainment this amused her a little, and it pres- 
ently occurred to her that there might be more 
amusement in taking a closer look at the old 
folks who had “feathered in” on Phoebe. The 
inert old lady was subject to somewhat ener- 
getic impulses at long and irregular intervals, 
and usually acted upon them without delay. 
And she did so now. Getting out of her low 
chair with some difficulty she did not call her 
daughter from the next room to fetch her 
bonnet, but took up an old parasol which 
chanced to be lying near. With this in her 
hand she went sideways down the front steps. 

174 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


At the gate she opened the parasol and found 
that one of its lean ribs stood out quite bare 
of silk. But there was enough left to cover 
her handsome old head and she never allowed 
a trifle to stand in the way of her amusing 
herself. Then the sun was only pleasantly 
warm as yet. 

The earth was moist and cool from the 
night’s shower, and the air was sweet with the 
scent of the wet clover-blossoms that reddened 
the meadows lying close by. In the gardens 
behind the houses the flowers were freshly 
fragrant. Old Mrs. Crabtree drank in all this 
beauty and sweetness, walking along the 
middle of the big road in order to see both 
sides. Moving slowly and heavily, for. she was 
short and stout and lazy as well as old, she 
lost nothing of the neighbors’ domestic affairs, 
that were to be seen through the open windows 
and doors. Passing the squire’s house she 
saw Mrs. Pottle quite distinctly — still bustling 
about — and that alert lady saw her too. But 
the only greeting exchanged between them was 
an offhand nod on the one side and a stiff 
bow on the other. That was just what old 
Mrs. Crabtree wanted. She chuckled till her 


175 


The Little Hills 


shapely bulk shook, knowing as well as if she 
had had eyes in the back of her handsome old 
head, that Mrs. Pottle — very much flustered — 
was peeping through her parlor curtains at 
that very moment trying to see where she 
was going. 

Other eyes also were following her with 
more open curiosity. For she very seldom 
left her own house and hardly ever walked. 
Moreover everybody was afraid of her and we 
all feel a particularly keen interest in every- 
thing done by those whom we fear. The 
widow Wall was so taken aback on seeing her 
that she nearly dropped the little basket of 
green peas which she had been gathering. 
That would have been too bad for they were 
the first to ripen in the whole neighborhood. 
All the other pea-vines were still more white 
than green with a snowy fringe of scented 
bloom. And she meant to give these earliest, 
tenderest peas to Phoebe. Even a handful of 
sweet and tender peas would help now that the 
poor child had so many to provide for and so 
little to do it with. Then — so the widow Wall 
said to herself — Mandy Pottle would hear of 
the present and it should teach her that some 
176 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


people had the spunk to do what they liked 
with their own, no matter how overbearing 
she might try to be. Yes, poor little Phoebe 
was going to have this first basketful of 
green peas, be the consequences what they 
might. At these boldly rebellious thoughts, 
this forlorn wisp of harmless humanity stood 
very straight among the blossoming vines. 
She dumbly declared again that Mandy Pottle 
should see that even a poor widow with nobody 
to take her part, had some pride and feelings 
and knew how to stand up for them too. No, 
Mandy Pottle was not going to have her own 
way in everything all the time hereafter, no 
matter what she might say and do. In the 
excitement of this desperate resolve she flung 
up her head and fell to picking the peas faster 
than ever. But it was just at this moment 
that she caught sight of old Mrs. Crabtree 
and forgot everything else. Hastily setting 
down the basket she ran round the house, and 
clear out into the middle of the big road with- 
out remembering that she would be seen. The 
sun was in her eyes, but she managed to see 
by shading them with her hands. And so she 
stood till there could be no more doubt about 


177 


The Little Hills 


the old lady’s actual turning in at Phoebe’s 
gate. 

“Ah — ha!” the widow Wall cried aloud 
quite recklessly, feeling for the moment almost 
a liking for old Mrs. Crabtree : “ There now, 
Mandy Pottle I After this we’ll all see who is 
mistress and whether a body may breathe when 
she pleases or not I ” running back to the gar- 
den in great haste to finish gathering the peas, 
so that she might take them to Phoebe and find 
out just what the old lady said and did. 

Meantime Mrs. Crabtree was going straight 
ahead without paying the least attention to the 
stir which her appearance had created, though 
she saw it plainly enough. And she would 
not let Phoebe turn back when she met her 
at the gate starting out on an errand. Indeed 
she was rather pleased at the prospect of see- 
ing the newcomers without any chance of in- 
terference with her investigation. There was 
no sign of them however, when she reached 
the porch and took her own time to subdue 
the unruly rib of the parasol. She got it down 
at last and used the stick as a cane in making 
her difficult way up the steps. There were 
two large rocking-chairs on the porch and 
178 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


she dropped heavily into the larger. It was 
a moment or so before her breath came 
back. When it had come she untied her 
bonnet-strings and threw them over her 
shoulders. Then she pounded loudly on the 
porch floor with the handle of the parasol. 
She must have been startled by the prompt- 
ness of the response had she been at all 
nervous. For Mother Rowan sprang up in 
the front door as if she had been shot there by 
a powerful spring. But old Mrs. Crabtree was 
not nervous and the instantaneous snapping of 
those hostile black eyes pleased her at once. 

“ How-d’y,” she drawled in her charming 
voice : ‘T’m Phoebe’s aunt. You, I presume, are 
her husband’s mother.” 

“ You can call me that if you want to,” 
said Mother Rowan. “ But my way is to call 
things by their true names. There’s no reason 
that I know of, to make me deny being poor 
William’s stepmother. Do you know of any .f* ” 

“ Bless me ! No,” cried old Mrs. Crabtree, 
glad she had come. 

But Mother Rowan gave her no time to say 
anything more. She darted out on the porch 
and popped into the other chair, whirling it 


179 


The Little Hills 


round so that she faced the enemy squarely, toe 
to toe and eye to eye. 

“ For if you — or anybody else — did know a 
thing or a time that I didn’t do my best by him 
in — I’d just like to hear what and when it was.” 

“ My dear Madam,” said Mrs. Crabtree look- 
ing blandly over her spectacles. “ Why ! I’ve 
always been on the stepmother’s side.” 

“ Well, / haven’t ! ” Mother Rowan said 
fiercely. “ The common run of ’em deserve 
what they get. I’ve never had any use for the 
tribe and I’ve always despised to be mixed up 
with ’em. I wont either and never would be. 
That’s the reason I was so particular about 
doing what I could for poor William. From 
the very minute I married his father when he 
wasn’t more than six months old — ” 

“ Oh ! ” old Mrs. Crabtree could not help 
breaking in. “ You certainly got an early start 
if there’s anything in that.” 

“ ’Twasn’t my place to mourn for his first 
wife,” Mother Rowan retorted with a fiery jerk 
of her small head toward the room in which 
the old man sat. “ I had my hands full — 
a-mourning for my own first husband. And 
my child not much older than his.” 

i8o 


Mrs. Crabtree's Call 


“ Then honors were easy,” said old Mrs. 
Crabtree affably, looking under her spectacles 
this time. She was beginning to enjoy herself 
very much indeed. 

Mother Rowan knew nothing about whist 
but there was something in the tone of this 
reference that made her suspicious. She 
scanned the fine, bland old face before her 
very sharply before going on: “And I did 
mourn for him just the same as if he hadn’t 
been as good as dead for years. Long sickness 
and worrying peevishness never made the dif- 
ference with me that they do with some people. 
I’ve a mighty poor opinion of any woman that 
won’t do her best — no matter what she feels — 
so long as she can stand on her feet and has 
strength in her arms and breath in her body. 
That kind of woman — and there are plenty of 
’em — is just as despisable to me as the common 
run of stepmothers. There can never be any 
charge of shirking brought against me. No, 
sir-ree ! I stood up to my duty through thick 
and thin and I wore mourning a full year, for I 
kept on wearing it after I married him. He 
didn’t care and it wouldn’t have mattered if 
he had. I always do what I think is right no 


The Little Hills 


matter who likes it, and who don’t. But he was 
a bit down-hearted too — left alone with a baby 
and a sickly one at that. My Mary was hearty 
yet I never made a mite of difference between 
’em. I can say that for myself now — and say 
it again when I come to hold up my right hand 
before the Great Bar.” 

An uneasy shade crossed old Mrs. Crab- 
tree’s face. She saw the strange look of 
exaltation, the same that Phoebe had seen, 
and understood it better. It gave her a 
glimpse of a benighted soul striving through 
mists toward some dimly lighted height. And 
that was most disquieting. It made her think 
and she did not wish to think — only to be 
amused. This was not at all amusing. She 
turned with a yawn and looked down the big 
road, meaning to start home as soon as she 
felt a little more rested. 

Mother Rowan’s gaze also wandered yet 
her thoughts held fast to the subject that 
absorbed her. It was ever easy to turn them 
to it and hard to turn them from it. Her 
voice had softened and grew almost gentle 
as she went on : “ The hardest part was to 
get somebody to take care of the two children 

182 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


while I was teaching school nearly a mile 
away. For I had to help make the living. 
He never had any knack for making money. 
Mary could have got along somehow — she 
was such a pine knot — but William couldn’t. 
He was real puny and needed lots of strong 
medicine and warm clothes. And he had ’em 

— that he did — so far as I could earn what 
he needed. But I had to leave home nearly 
all day to do it. Of course he was always 
ready to offer to stay with the children. But 
my back was no sooner turned than he was 
off to the gi'oggery. At first while the chil- 
dren were little I tied them to the bedposts 

— one at the head and one at the foot — to 
keep ’em out of the fire. Then I used to 
put molasses on their little hands and gave 
them both a nice fuzzy white feather. Pick- 
ing it from one hand to the other kept ’em 
real busy till I got back.” 

“ It must have. I can’t imagine any more 
inexhaustible source of entertainment.” 

“ Other times before they had any jaw teeth, 
I would take two nice pieces of fat bacon — 
both exactly the same size — and tie them 
fast to the ends of two clean, strong strings. 
183 


The Little Hills 


Then I used to tie the other end of one of 
these strings to each child’s big toe. Fixed 
that way they couldn't choke themselves no 
matter how hard they might try to swallow 
the chunks whole. For just as soon as they 
began to choke they’d begin to kick — jerking 
the strings — and up the bacon was bound to 
come.” 

“ So that they could eat their cake and have 
it too.” 

“ They never had a mite o’ cake,” said Mother 
Rowan sharply. “ Mary might have had it just 
as well as not. She could digest anything that 
she could swallow. But William couldn’t and 
I never made any difference nor let her have 
one single thing that he didn’t have. There’s 
nobody — ” 

“ Certainly — yes — of course not, I’m sure,” 
said old Mrs. Crabtree hastily, having no 
notion of being made sad again. “ And what 
else did you do ? ” 

There was an air of flattering interest in 
the way this was said. 

Mother Rowan was momentarily disarmed : 
“ Well — I hardly knew what to do as they 
got to be bigger and the spring came on. 

184 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


Then the doctor said William must play out 
of doors and I didn’t know which way to turn 
till Uncle Sandy — a most respectable black 
man — was put in jail. You see one wall of 
the jail came right up to our side yard so that 
he could see the children at play. But I never 
would have thought of asking him to take 
care of them, if he hadn’t hollowed at ’em 
without being asked one day when he saw 
’em doing something misckewou^. That put 
the plan in my head and I couldn’t have hit 
on a better one. Uncle Sandy staid by the 
window looking down through the bars the 
whole time I was gone to school. He could 
because he hadn’t anything else to do. Once 
when William got strangled on a bean he 
called the preacher who happened to be going 
by and sent him running for me. And I did 
my part by Uncle Sandy too. I never believe 
in taking anything for nothing. Many’s the big 
plate of good hot victuals right off the fire that 
I handed up to him through the jail window. 
Yes, and more than one whole pie to boot.” 

“There couldn’t be any doubt about your 
keeping your side of any bargain,” Mrs. Crab- 
tree said with entire sincerity. 

185 


The Little Hills 


Mother Rowan accepted the compliment in 
silence, but it was easy to see that she was 
pleased : “ The worst time of all was when the 
children had the measles. For of course they 
had ’em at the same time because when I sent 
Mary over to a neighbor’s to get the complaint 
I sent William too.” 

“ Sent them to get it. What do you mean ? ” 

“Just common sense — that’s all,” said Mother 
Rowan. “ It was in the neighborhood and 
they had to have it. The only thing for me to 
do was to see that they took it in the right 
manner at the proper season. There’s never 
any knowing when that disorder is done with, 
if children are allowed to take it at random. 
Maybe the common run of stepmothers might 
be careless enough to run such a risk, but I 
didn’t intend to have it on my conscience.” 

Old Mrs. Crabtree settled back in her chair 
as if she meant to stay a long time. 

“ There wasn’t any use in shilly-shallying 
either. That’s not my way anyhow. When 
I’ve got to do a thing I do it right off the 
reel.” 

“ Well, I don’t,” said Mrs. Crabtree. “ I 
used to — sometimes. But I never do now 

i86 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


because I’ve found out more often than not 
that by putting things off I can slide out of 
doing them at all.” 

Mother Rowan eyed her grimly, thinking 
such laxity positively immoral. 

“ Of course I waited till the spring was in 
sight,” she said sternly. “ And I didn’t take 
one bluebird’s word for it. But when the 
swallows began to build in the chimney, I 
knew the right time had come. Then I washed 
the children’s faces, William’s first, and put on 
their clean white aprons — giving Mary the one 
with a darn — and sent them off hand in hand, 
telling them to kiss the child that had the com- 
plaint, so that they’d be sure to have it.” 

Old Mrs. Crabtree looked curiously at her 
for a moment. “ You’re a remarkable woman,” 
she then said slowly. “ You are just about the 
most remarkable person — man or woman — 
that I’ve ever come across. Never till this mo- 
ment have I ever known anybody with the full 
courage of conviction. But — what if those 
children had died ! ” 

“ That was Providence’s lookout — not mine ! 
It was all I could do to attend to my own duty — 
let alone anybody else’s. And I did attend to 
187 


The Little Hills 


it — nobody could have done it better. No chil- 
dren ever had the measles more thoroughly. 
When they were taken down there was a sift 
of snow on the ground and when they could 
lift their heads to look out the window the 
orchards were in bloom. Why, I can hear their 
weak little voices now — a-saying how pretty 
everything was — and almost see their peeked 
little faces — hardly wider than your two 
fingers.” 

There was a long pause after this. It seemed 
to old Mrs. Crabtree that there was no more to 
say. But finally she asked — just to keep the 
ball rolling — where they had lived at that time. 
She listened rather absently to an account of 
the buying of the farm on Rennox Creek, 
which was always covered with a scum of some 
ill-smelling oil. But she pricked up her 
ears when she heard that this oil flowing out 
into Cumberland River had caught fire and 
burned on the top of the water for fifty-five miles. 

“ Let’s take off five miles just to make an 
even number,” she suggested. 

“ I’ll do nothing of the kind,” said Mother 
Rowan firmly. “ That’s what I was told. I’ll 
tell the story as I heard it or not at all,” and 

i88 


Mrs. Crabtree’s Call 


indeed the encyclopaedia tells it in the same 
way to this very day. 

Old Mrs. Crabtree came back to firmer foot- 
ing. “ Well, at all events your stepson was a 
good boy,” she said. 

The response was warm : “ I never had to 
slap him but once — and many’s the time I’ve 
been sorry for that. But if it was to do over 
again I don’t see how it could be different. 
This was the way of it. We had a real nice 
neighbor — a maiden lady named Miss Minty 
Riddle. She was just as good as gold — but 
mighty sensitive about being so very fleshy. 
One day she asked me and the children to go 
with her to the circus. I’d have kept Mary 
at home, but William was so pleased that I 
consented and she gave him a quarter of his 
own to spend. I tried to get him to save it to 
buy medicine. But nothing would do but he 
lay it out paying his way into the side-show. 
And so he did. Well, there we stood waiting 
— Miss Minty and me and Mary — with folks 
all around us till William came out of the side- 
show. He was almost crying and said real 
loud, with a kind of sob, ‘ Here I’ve gone and 
spent my quarter to see the Fat Lady and she 
189 


The Little Hills 


ain’t a bit fatter than Miss Minty.’ Now what 
else could I do but fetch him a box on the ear 
with Miss Minty a-bursting into tears, and all 
the others a-grinning } ” 

Nevertheless she was sorely troubled by the 
recollection of this one severity. And having 
it thus brought back she could not help speak- 
ing of the tombstone to make up for it in some 
measure. Then, seeing her listener’s deep in- 
terest, she became as nearly confiding as her 
nature would allow. She now learned for the 
first time that the squire owned the field ad- 
joining the graveyard. There was something 
too in the talk which led her to hope that he 
might be induced to move the fence. On the 
whole she began to take a less gloomy view 
and her strange face was again wearing its 
rapt look. 

That made old Mrs. Crabtree uneasy and 
she was relieved to see Phoebe coming. 


190 


XII 

LOVE DRAWS WHILE JEALOUSY DRIVES 

She would have returned even sooner but 
for trying to see Mrs. Pottle. It seemed a 
long time since she had consulted that able 
adviser. Troubles were piling up too — fast 
and high — and she did not know how to cope 
with them. It is hard at first to walk alone 
when we have never been allowed to stand 
on our own feet, hard enough when the path 
is clear and Phoebe’s was anything but that. 
Indeed she hardly knew which way to turn 
and felt that she must ask Mrs. Pottle as she 
always had done heretofore. 

With this in mind she had hurried through 
her small business at the store and set off for 
the squire’s large white house. But she had 
gone only a few paces when she caught a 
glimpse under the trees of Mrs. Pottle’s capable 
back just vanishing beneath Arabella’s lilacs, 
191 


The Little Hills 


The sight had caused her to pause and waver. 
For a moment she thought of going on and 
appealing to her friend as though no one else 
were present. She knew that Arabella did 
not gossip. Those who are entirely absorbed 
in their own affairs rarely do. But she was 
not thinking about that. The doubt which 
had suddenly sprung up in her mind was 
whether it would be right to mention Mother 
Rowan’s peculiarities to any one. In another 
moment it had seemed clearly wrong to speak 
of them even to Mrs. Pottle. So that she must 
try to get along without advice. Then, turn- 
ing hastily, she sped homeward as if running 
away from temptation. When she saw the two 
old ladies sitting on the porch her heart gave a 
leap of alarm. What might not have happened 
from her leaving them so long together with- 
out a buffer ! 

She was almost afraid to go nearer but there 
was no visible sign of collision. Nor was there 
anything unusual in old Mrs. Crabtree’s get- 
ting up at once to go home. She always did 
that the moment she ceased to be amused and 
now strolled off with a good-natured nod. 
Mother Rowan too was in a better humor. 


192 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

Indeed things seemed not nearly so bad as 
they had half an hour ago. With new cheer- 
fulness Phoebe said that she was ready to help 
turn the bed round once more, and make every 
other change in the arrangement of the furni- 
ture that Mother Rowan wanted. 

“ Just as soon as I can lay off my bonnet,” 
she called over her shoulder starting along the 
porch to the shed-room. 

“ Back again ! ” Mother Rowan challenged. 

Phoebe turned to see the new minister stand- 
ing on the steps. 

“ My aunt sends me — or I shouldn’t have 
ventured to come so soon,” he said smiling. 
“ She invites both you ladies to run across and 
see something that she thinks worth seeing.” 

“ I’ve got something of my own to see to,” 
said Mother Rowan shortly. “ And I should 
think Phoebe had traipsed a-plenty for one day 
— but if she wants to traipse over yonder — 
it’s no business of mine.” 

“Oh, no — ’’said Phoebe hastily and blush- 
ing. “ Please thank your aunt. I should like 
to go — but I couldn’t possibly. We’ve been 
out the whole morning and the house isn’t yet 
in order. I can’t leave it to Mother Rowan.” 


193 


The Little Hills 


“ Well, I don’t see why not,” said Mother 
Rowan huffily. “ IVe kept house before you 
were born — in as good a one as this — and 
bigger too. You needn’t be in the least 
afraid — ” 

“Please — ” protested Phoebe. “Indeed I 
didn’t mean that. Of course you are a much 
better housekeeper than I am. It was only 
because there is so much to do — and Father 
Rowan to take care of — ” 

“ Well, you needn’t be afraid of that either ! ” 
exclaimed Mother Rowan with growing indig- 
nation. “ I have taken care of him — lo, these 
many years without having you — or anybody 
else — to tell me howr 

Phoebe’s brown eyes unconsciously appealed 
to the new minister. She did not know what 
to say or do and was already beginning to 
rely upon his greater strength. But even as 
she looked at him it came to her again that 
she should allow no one to interfere with her 
own task. Moved by a tender impulse she held 
her soft little hand on the hard old arm. 

“ Only tell me what you want me to do,” she 
said wistfully. “ I will do it as nearly as I can 
— but I don’t know what you mean.” 


194 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

“Just exactly what I say — and always do,” 
responded Mother Rowan. “ If you’ll under- 
stand that once for all — it’ll save you — and me 
too — a good deal of trouble,” and with this she 
stalked through the front door and out of sight. 

Phoebe’s lips were quivering and her eyes full 
of tears. But when she turned and saw that 
the new minister was smiling she smiled also. 

“ It’s best for you to come — for a little 
while,” he urged. “You can return in a few 
minutes. Please come, it’s much the best,” 
going down the steps and opening the gate. 

She followed since there seemed nothing else 
to do. But she was still too much agitated to 
know just what she was doing and daintily 
held up her black skirt a little higher than she 
intended. 

His gaze was quite steady and clear. This 
was the first opportunity that he had found to 
look at her as closely and as long as he desired. 
The full light made her brownness fairer and 
the flush on her smooth cheeks more exquisite. 
With the sunlight on her uplifted face her 
brown eyes were the color of sherry wine and 
as full of sparkles. The brown of her hair too 
brightened in the sunshine till it turned into 
195 


The Little Hills 


red-gold and the moist breeze curled it bewitch- 
ingly round the prim brim of her black bonnet. 
And that absurd veil ! Falling nearly to her 
trim little slippers, it seemed meant to prevent 
his feeling the thrill that came with every tan- 
talizing glimpse of her snowy petticoat. That 
enchanting thrill which was lost with the pass- 
ing of those mysterious white ruffles! For 
there is never a thrill — not one — in all the 
prosaic candor of colored silk. 

“ It’s some discovery in nature study that I’m 
taking you to see,” he said gayly as he led the 
way to the parsonage door. 

“And you will knowingly lead me into wrong- 
doing — after all you’ve said,” she spoke laugh- 
ing yet with real surprise. 

“ Oh — only wrong for me — not for you.” 

“How can that be.^” She looked up wondering. 

“ Easily enough. You’ll admit that some 
things are right for a man and wrong for a 
woman — fighting for example.” 

“ Yes,” she said readily. Then she blushed 
vividly, feeling shocked and amazed at herself 
— as a gentle woman always does when sur- 
prised into admitting this opinion which the 
gentlest woman holds in her secret heart 
196 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

He laughed in open delight: “Well, this 
is merely the other way round to the same 
thing. You may safely love Nature while I may 
not. A sweet woman has plenty of love and 
sympathy, enough for both Nature and Hu- 
manity. She couldn’t be narrow and selfish if 
she tried. But my aunt is calling. Let’s go in.” 

They found Miss Dale busy with a long row 
of butterflies pinned on the wall. It was a 
shocking massacre of the innocents and 
Phoebe could not bear to look at it. But by 
shutting her eyes to the cruel pins thrust 
through the frail little bodies, she managed to 
say something acceptable about the beauty of 
the lifeless wings. This, however, was not the 
triumph which she had been summoned to 
witness. That was upstairs in a small room 
known as the laboratory, and Miss Dale now 
led the way up the steep stairs taking a key 
from her pocket with a look of mystery. 

“ Of course I keep the door locked,” she said 
gravely. “ There are dangerous as well as 
secret elements of science. I use some arsenic 
and have to be most cautious,” she whispered, 
throwing open the door. 

There was nothing in the room except a 
197 


The Little Hills 


large table and a small chair. It was strictly 
a workshop. Several unpleasant-looking in- 
struments were strewn over the table and in 
the midst of them lay a most strange and grew- 
some object. Phoebe stared at it in shrinking 
amazement without knowing at first what it 
was. Then she saw that it might once have 
been some wretched little bird. So it was 
indeed; the victim of an experiment in taxi- 
dermy. And apparently Miss Dale’s sole idea 
of the art was to stuff the poor little feathered 
skin as full as it could hold, quite regardless 
of its great elasticity. 

“ Isn’t it a fine specimen of an oriole ? ” she 
asked, eager for the praise which she thought 
her success deserved. 

“ An oriole ! ” echoed Phoebe blankly. 

Could this distorted ball covered with dingy 
yellow feathers be all that was left of such a 
radiant, graceful golden creature — a living sun- 
beam ? 

“Well, what do you think of my work?” 
urged Miss Dale rather impatiently. “ Isn’t it 
natural? Taxidermy is really wonderful.” 

“It must be — most wonderful,” replied 
Phoebe quickly, glad to be able to say that much. 

198 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

“ But you don’t say how you like what I’ve 
done. Don’t you think it quite true to 
Nature?” 

“ It seems to me — that is don’t you think 
its feathers stick out a little too stiff and 
straight and far apart ? ” Phoebe said confusedly. 

“Not at all ! ” said Miss Dale in quick offence. 
“ It’s Nature herself. I’ve studied birds till I 
know them and I’ve mastered the fundamental 
principles of taxidermy. It may be that my 
methods are my own. I should hate to think 
they were not, after all the error I’ve detected 
in other naturalists.” 

“ I don’t know anything about it,” Phoebe 
said still more timidly. “ Only I do know the 
orioles — I’ve known them all my life.” Think- 
ing of these golden friends, who sang so blithely 
as they built their beautiful air-castles, she 
sighed. 

“ Few people do know anything about Na- 
ture,” retorted Miss Dale sharply. “ Study 
amounts to little. One must see and know for 
one’s self, and distrust everything that anybody 
else may claim to have seen and known. But — 
since science does not interest you — we may 
just as well go back downstairs.” 


199 


The Little Hills 


After this unlucky visit Phoebe was ignored 
by the new minister’s aunt. None of us find 
it easy to forgive a doubt of our doing the 
things that we cannot do: it is far easier to 
forgive the doubting of the things that we have 
done. But the new minister managed to see 
Phoebe without any one’s aid. His first pretext 
was going to help her when he saw her trying 
to tie up a branch of honeysuckle that she 
could not reach. Then there was a rose-bush 
bending with bloom and needing more strength 
than she had to support it. By the third day he 
was bold enough to follow her into the garden, 
having watched from his window till he saw 
her among the borders. A hedge came be- 
tween the garden and the big road, shutting 
out curious eyes. For two days he helped her 
pick dainty spice pinks and gather humble 
vegetables with equal delight. 

But it was not to be supposed that Mother 
Rowan would allow this to go on without 
vigorous protest. She did not suspect what 
it meant. Falling in love was naturally the 
last thought to cross her mind. But she 
resented what she took to be an intrusion and 
did not hesitate to say just what she felt. In 


200 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

the presence of the intruder she told Phoebe 
that she never could or would stand having a 
man always round under foot. Furthermore, 
she declared that if he had nothing to do — 
and he should have work if he were any manner 
of account — he would take himself off and 
give an industrious woman a chance to do hers. 
How — she demanded — was any housekeeper 
to do her duty properly with a man hanging 
round the house — always under foot — and 
never giving a body a chance to sweep and 
dust? No, she repeated, she never had put 
up with it and never would. When he used 
to hang round the fire — a-smoking his pipe — 
right after breakfast when there was most to 
do she would not allow it, and made him go 
down to the store rain or shine, so that she 
might at least get a free breath. 

But the minister merely laughed and grew 
more circumspect. It was not long before he 
learned that Mother Rowan was occupied 
every evening at a certain hour in getting 
Father Rowan settled for the night. He was 
also quick to learn that Phoebe then sat alone 
on the front porch beneath the vines. Learn- 
ing this he wanted nothing more — except to 


201 


The Little Hills 


cross the big road as soon as the kind gloam- 
ing floated down. For there was still light 
enough to see her while the hour was full of 
twilight’s witchery. The scent of the flowers 
seemed to rise on soft wings and drift through 
the warm dusk with the silver moth. Beauty, 
fragrance, and mystery subtly prepared the 
way for love’s lesson. It was not old to him 
and it was new to her. He had never before 
learned it thoroughly and she had never 
learned it at all. But he soon learned it by 
heart now and saw that she was learning it so 
too. Yet at the same time he saw that she 
had made up her mind not to let him know 
that she knew that he knew. Indeed he 
understood better than she could have done, 
just what it was that made her close her eyes 
to the truth and even to his knowledge of it. 
These simple scruples which forbade her hear- 
ing one word of love — one moment too soon 
— were very sweet to him. Sometimes he 
smiled tenderly seeing her smooth down a fold 
of her mourning, as if needing to remind herself. 
At such times there was about her something 
more than ever like a wren : a shy, gentle, 
brown little house-wren fluttering to reach a 


202 


Love Draws while Jealousy Drives 

roof-tree and yet afraid to alight. Feeling this 
he would have been only too proud to tell 
everybody how much he loved her. But he 
could not mention his love just yet without 
unseemly haste. Then, although he was for- 
bidden to speak of his own love for her he was 
free to talk about love itself, and after all that 
is the subtlest way of making love. Moreover, 
it was a way of making love that she was not 
on her guard against, and he lost none of the 
advantage that her inexperience gave him. 
So that he was able to bide his time and 
almost content to wait, sitting close beside her 
hidden behind the flowering vines in the 
scented dusk lighted only by the fireflies. 


203 


XIII 

SETTING CAPS 

It was only to be expected that the new 
minister should pay Phoebe more than the 
usual attention. Everybody always did that. 
And just because it was Phoebe there could not 
possibly be a thought that these frequent calls 
were not mere visits of condolence. Indeed, 
there and among those people, the faintest 
shadow of such a suspicion was utterly out of 
the question in any case of such recent widow- 
hood. For the rest of us living in a wider 
world of broader tolerance can hardly con- 
ceive of the narrow intolerance that binds in 
a place like this. Nowhere else is there such 
rigid exaction of convention and such rigorous 
disregard of inclination. But let us hope that 
it may not be quite so hard to live without 
transgressing — where the temptations are 
fewer than the rules of conduct. 


204 


Setting Caps 

How then was it to be known, or thought, or 
dreamt that Phoebe — the modest — was falling 
in love and letting herself be fallen in love with, 
before the last stiffening was out of the crape 
veil. The merest hint of such a thing would 
have set the whole community ablaze with in- 
dignation in her defence. There was not a 
woman anywhere near who would not have 
resented as an affront to herself an imputation 
of the slightest impropriety upon Phoebe’s part. 
Even old Mrs. Crabtree who laughed at most 
things, would have frowned down anything like 
serious criticism of Phoebe. But that keen ob- 
server might have seen something of the truth 
with her own cynical eyes if she had not been 
absorbed by certain vague and rather hopeless 
plans just about this time. Seeing the new 
minister cross the big road so often had set her 
to thinking. 

“ What’s the reason he doesn’t come here 
more } ” she asked suddenly turning to look 
at her daughter. “You might ask him to 
supper. And why don’t you try to make your 
hair look better? Rough it up — for goodness’ 
sake — if you can’t do anything else. It looks 
like it was painted on your head.” 

205 


The Little Hills 


Poor Anne ! It is hard to be looked at as 
she was then. No tie of blood seems to make 
that look less merciless. Anne endured it in 
silence as she had done many times before 
this. But she slipped out of the room as soon 
as her mother’s attention was diverted. She 
went straight to the garden and over to the 
tansy bed and knelt down beside it to gather 
the leaves. A step startled her. 

“Aren’t they pretty — just like long green 
ostrich feathers,” said the widow Wall close by. 
“ I saw you come out here and I didn’t go in 
the house. Your mother and I somehow never 
have much to say to one another.” 

Anne nodded silently. She stammered and 
seldom spoke if she could help it. 

“ Well, I’d certainly like to have a nice 
feather for my dress-bonnet,” the widow Wall 
went on rather plaintively. “Not a green 
one of course. That wouldn’t be my color. I 
always used to wear blue — and I’m going to 
begin wearing it again too. Yes, I am. My 
taste always was real dressy. Mandy Pottle’s 
bonnets never suited my style. They are not 
the kind I would pick out. But she may have 
chosen plain things because she never had 
206 


Setting Caps 

much of a figure to carry off dressy ones,” she 
said, lifting her lank thinness with sudden 
pride. “ And you’re slim too, Anne.” 

It was a little pitiful to see Anne’s glance of 
gratitude. She rarely received a compliment 
and would have thanked the widow Wall for 
this slight one, had she felt able to speak with- 
out stammering. 

“You are always so neat too — just as neat 
as a new pin,” that amiable soul went on. 
“ That’s how I knew it was you when I saw 
somebody a-talking to Hillery Kibbey on the 
sly yesterday. Nobody else’s ginghams ever 
are as clean and stiff as yours. So that I 
made sure it was you — though I could only 
see part of a skirt through the stage wheels. 
Otherwise — of course — I would never have 
thought of such a thing as your going clear 
out to the edge of town to speak to him. It 
seemed just a little underhand, as if you were 
hiding something.” 

She looked down sharply and Anne looked 
up guiltily. 

“To be sure you’re old enough to keep your 
own counsel if you want to — and plenty old 
enough to know what you ought to do and 
207 


The Little Hills 


what you oughtn’t,” she said with a passing 
touch of mild malice. “But maybe you’ll not 
mind saying what you mean to do with all that 
tansy. There can hardly be any secret about 
tansy-tea.” 

“ Not tea — I’m — m-go-go-ing — t’t’t’t’ — ” 
stammered Anne taking breath for another 
running start. “ It’s to take off my freckles.” 

“ Oh,” cried the widow with interest and vi- 
vacity. “ Y ou mean to put the tansy leaves in 
buttermilk and set the bowl in the sun. Why, 
I used to do that a long time ago and I’ve a 
great mind to begin again. Suppose you give 
me a little of yours, Anne. Then if I like it 
I’ll make some of my own.” 

Anne eagerly intimated that she would be 
delighted to divide. With her hands full of 
the leaves she now led the way to the house. 
But they stopped at the back porch and the 
widow Wall sat down on the edge of it, while 
Anne went into the kitchen to get an empty 
bowl and a pitcher of buttermilk. She set 
these on the porch floor between them and 
they laid a row of the aromatic leaves round 
the inside of the bowl. Then they poured in 
some of the buttermilk before laying another 
208 


Setting Caps 


row of leaves and so on till the bowl was full. 
Anne took it up and stood looking round 
rather nervously. It was not easy to find a 
sunny spot out of the range of her mother’s 
keen and sweeping glance. But she found it 
at last and coming back to her seat on the 
edge of the porch, sat down again with a sigh. 

“ They say it does take off freckles,” the 
widow Wall said encouragingly. “And I 
wouldn’t mind having freckles if my skin 
was as white and smooth wherever it could 
be seen as yours is. I don’t freckle but I tan 
— and that’s worse. Yes, I’ll certainly try 
that lotion of tansy and buttermilk. For 
somehow here lately I’ve just about made up 
my mind that a woman ain’t a bit better Chris- 
tian for looking any older than she can help. 
Hereafter I’m a-going to look just as young 
and nice as I can — ” 

“ Me too,” broke in Anne with a desperate 
effort. 

“ It’s no sin, it’s a duty,” said the widow 
Wall with growing conviction. “ I’ve already 
begun. This whole morning I’ve been hard 
at work on my best bombazine. I’ve turned 
it upside down and hind part before. With 


209 


The Little Hills 


my face to you it looks as good as new. Of 
course I don’t intend to wear it every day, but 
I can slip it on when I see anybody a-coming. 
A body wants to look well dressed if a gentle- 
man should happen to stop at the gate for a 
chat. From my front window I can see as far 
up the big road as the parsonage gate. So 
that there’ll be plenty of time to slip on 
the bombazine and I needn’t wear it con- 
stantly. But there’s one thing that I do in- 
tend to wear straight along and get the good 
out of — that’s my nicest breastpin — you've 
seen it, Anne.” 

“ Once or twice at church,” Anne managed 
to say politely and with genuine interest. 

The widow Wall nodded: “Yes, the one 
with the lock of my father’s hair. Sometimes 
I’ve wished that I’d had one of my husband’s 
to put with it. His was so red and father’s so 
black that they would have looked mighty nice 
and odd together. I thought about it while 
he was alive but I never had the heart to 
ask him for it — he had so little to spare,” 
sighing deeply. “ All that he had was one 
long lock. It was on the right side but he 
used to spread it over the whole top of his 


210 


Setting Caps 

head just one hair deep. My — but it was 
interesting to see him do it! I never got 
tired of watching him when he did it. Well, 
well,” she sighed. “ But of course you can’t be 
expected to know how a widow feels. And as 
I was a-saying just now — there’s no sense in 
letting yourself go — and I don’t intend to. I 
got out that breastpin and my best worked 
collar and they are lying on my bed right this 
minute — with the pin stuck in the collar. You 
have to be careful with a fine worked collar, but 
I can keep it there handy and all ready to pin 
on — whenever I see anybody a-coming down 
the big road. My ! to think how young I was 
when my mother let me wear that collar and 
pin to church for the first time. I can hear 
her now a-whispering when I nodded : ‘ sit up, 
Jane, and show your breastpin.’ She didn’t 
think as some people do that the worse you 
look the better for your soul. And I’m going 
to be really dressy from this time on — no 
matter what Mandy Pottle says I And I mean 
to put some gay flowers on that last ugly dress- 
bonnet that she gave me. I’ve never had what 
I like — and I mean to have it now.” 

The tone was a torch to the rebellion already 


The Little Hills 


seething in Anne’s flat bosom. She burst out 
with the peculiar recklessness that only the 
timid ever show. She now began telling with- 
out the slightest reserve, a secret which she 
had not intended to tell but a moment before. 
So excited that she almost forgot to stammer, 
she confessed her purpose in waylaying Hillery 
Kibbey. “For I felt just the same way that 
you do,” she said. “ I’d never had what I 
wanted and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I 
determined that I would do exactly as I pleased 
— for once — no matter what came of it! 
That’s the reason I didn’t even let anybody 
know when I sent by Hillery — much less what 
I sent for. It was my own money — I had a 
right to spend it.” 

“ Sakes alive!” cried the widow Wall. 
“What in the world did you send for — ” 

But Anne did not wait to be questioned. 
She had burned her bridges and had no 
thought of turning back. “ Why, I gave Hil- 
lery plenty of money to buy me a real, thick, 
curly false front — and of the very blackest 
hair that he could find.” 

“ Goodness ! Gracious ! ” The widow Wall 
could only stare at the thin and sandy locks 


Setting Caps 

that clung so close to the wan and freckled 
face. 

“ Why shouldn’t I ? ” demanded Anne fully 
aroused, defiant, resenting the look and stam- 
mering wildly. “ You surely don’t suppose 
that I’m going to get this same kind of hair — 
that I’ve always had to put up with — when I 
can choose to suit myself! For if you do — 
you’re very much mistaken, that’s all. My new 
false front is going to be thick and curly and 
black as a crow. I’m tired of never having 
anything that I like. For once I mean to have 
what suits me. Yes I do! And I don’t care 
one mite what you or anybody may say. Not 
even Mother ! There now ! ” 

She stopped out of breath and in a sudden 
panic at her own daring. Then she began to 
cry in a weak, frightened way and to cast 
alarmed glances over her shoulder. 

“ She couldn’t hear you,” soothed the widow 
Wall. “There, there! Don’t cry. It does 
me good to hear you talk like that and see you 
show some spunk at last. If you’d only stand 
up for yourself she’d treat you better. The 
more we put up with the more we have to 
take. That’s human nature. And you’re just 


213 


The Little Hills 


right Do as you like. Fll back you up all I 
can. But speaking about looks, have you seen 
Arabella since she took to using plumpers ? ” 

“ Plum’m’m’m’m — pers ? ” wondered poor 
Anne with curiosity and interest dawning in 
her pale and reddened eyes. 

“ Well, I’ve had my suspicions lately,” said 
the widow Wall moving nearer and lowering 
her tone. “ Now that there are gentlemen in 
the neighborhood of course you notice a good 
many things that you never did before. But 
I couldn’t tell what it was that made Arabella’s 
face look just as plump and round as a baby’s. 
There she sat smiling and always turning her 
head, or putting up her handkerchief when she 
spoke to the passer-by. Yesterday though — 
just after I’d seen you talking to Hillery — I 
made up my mind to go right over to Arabella’s 
and see for myself what she had in her mouth. 
And I did — just coolly sat myself down with- 
out being invited — and there I stayed too till 
she had to own up.” 

Anne asked what it was, most eagerly and 
with great difficulty. 

“ Little thin, round pieces of raw white 
turnip. More than that she had a whole 


214 


Setting Caps 

tumbler full of them in water, hidden behind 
the window curtain. For she said in that airy 
way of hers, that no one of real refinement 
would wish to use the same piece twice. Of 
course I turned up my nose. You have to, or 
there’s no standing Arabella’s airs and graces. 
But — just between you and me, Anne — the 
plumpers did make a great difference. I 
would hardly have known Arabella’s hatchet 
face if I had seen it anywhere else but there at 
the same window — watching and waiting — 
for the captain to come.” 

“ It always seems very pitiful to me,” said 
Anne gently. 

“Well, I’d feel sorry for her too — if she didn’t 
put on so many airs and wasn’t so wrapped up 
in herself and the captain. Now, you know 
just as well as I do that she never would have 
said one blessed word about the plumpers. 
And she with a husband already too and know- 
ing perfectly well that spinsters and widows are 
naturally more interested in everything that 
makes a lady attractive — especially when 
there’s a strange gentleman in the neighbor- 
hood and a bachelor — than any married 
woman has a right to be.” 

215 


The Little Hills 


Anne managed to make it clear that she 
would like very much to find some means of 
filling out her own hollow cheeks, and the 
widow Wall offered to fetch her a nice white 
turnip. But the confidential talk was now 
rudely interrupted by old Mrs. Crabtree’s call- 
ing to ask what they were talking about any- 
way, demanding to know what they were doing 
so long, and imperiously ordering them to 
come in at once and amuse her — if they could. 
But the widow Wall — wise through experi- 
ence — made her escape by declaring that she 
must go straight down to the squire’s house 
and see what had become of Mandy Pottle. 


216 


XIV 


ARABELLA’S INSPIRATION 

For the squire’s lady had learned, as we all 
learn sooner or later, that time does not help 
us undo our mistakes. She had hardly spoken 
the hasty words before she was sorry. The 
first day after the estrangement seemed very 
long, and the second dragged as if it would 
never end. Through the third she felt sure 
that Phoebe would come — forgetting there had 
been any trouble — in the sweet old way. But 
she had no means of knowing that only an 
accident had prevented her coming. And so 
when nearly a week had crept by she grew 
gravely uneasy, wondering how she was ever 
to make friends without a fatal loss of dignity. 

Yet nothing had been lost for lack of effort 
on her part. To use a country phrase she had 
not allowed grass to grow under her feet. She 
had gone every morning and almost every 
217 


The Little Hills 


evening to consult Arabella. It seemed safer 
to hold these consultations in Arabella’s house 
rather than in her own, where there were al- 
ways so many servants standing at elbow, ready 
to listen and gossip. For it was necessary that 
everything about this unfortunate matter should 
be kept perfectly quiet, out of regard for her 
own high position which must not even seem to 
be in danger. Then the squire — seeing Ara- 
bella coming and going so often — would have 
been certain to make some of those ironical 
comments which were always a great trial. 
And she could not endure to be laughed at and 
bantered now. Her perplexity was too great 
and her distress too real. Indeed it was noth- 
ing less than a tragedy, to find herself unex- 
pectedly and wholly outside the social life of 
the community after being so long its sole 
dictator. It was bitter to see groups of people 
passing up and down the big road and crossing 
from one side to the other, and not have a word 
to say about their movements, or even know 
where they were going or what they were say- 
ing or doing. And none of us may belittle what 
she felt. For after all it is our own estimate 
that gives everything its value so far as we are 


Arabella's Inspiration 

concerned. Others may have smiled at the 
little things that we have set our own hearts 
upon. And to this simple, honest, earnest, 
unselfish woman the social supremacy over that 
remote little corner of the green earth, was the 
most important and highly desirable thing in 
the whole world. 

Then too she had held it for years without 
question from any one. It had ever been a 
source of great pride but it had never seemed 
quite so precious a privilege as it did now when 
in danger — if not already lost. Most of us 
can understand and sympathize with this feel- 
ing out of our deepest experience. And we 
also know that the fact that she had lost it 
through her own fault did not make the loss 
less hard to bear. That bitter knowledge has 
never lessened the hardness of anything that 
any of us have had to endure. 

At all events it only made poor Mrs. Pottle 
more miserable and took away the last of the 
self-confidence which had carried her through 
many trials. Of a sudden she doubted her 
right to lay down the social law, even to Phoebe 
whom everybody dictated to out of pure tender- 
ness. Then in remembering the sweetness 


219 


The Little Hills 


with which Phoebe had always submitted, her 
heart began to ache even more keenly than her 
pride. For she loved her — indeed she had 
never realized how dearly — till this vague 
coolness had risen between them like a chilling 
fog. Why, she actually did not know how to 
sit down to her sewing without knowing what 
Phoebe was doing and meant to do the whole 
day through. Restlessly she wandered about 
her own house — scolding the maids and dis- 
satisfied with everything — until she suddenly 
determined that something must be done and 
at once. 

Her first impulse was to go straight to 
Phoebe in the direct, simple manner natural 
to her and own — bluntly — that she was to 
blame. With a throb of affection she thought 
how Phoebe would come flying to meet the 
first tender word with open arms. She could 
hardly wait to put on her leghorn bonnet and 
she intended to stop at Arabella’s, only long 
enough to say that nobody could persuade her 
to put off going one moment longer. For 
there was a slight but growing suspicion in her 
mind that Arabella’s advice might not be en- 
tirely disinterested. Accordingly she eyed her 


220 


Arabella's Inspiration 

sharply when she stopped at the gate to an- 
nounce what she meant to do. There was 
even a hint of defiance in her tone. 

Arabella was taken quite by surprise and 
much upset. This step was not at all in 
accord with her own plans. She had enjoyed 
the importance which these frequent consulta- 
tions gave her. The jealousy of the widow 
Wall and the envy of the other neighbors had 
not lessened her satisfaction. None of us 
value our honors any the less for seeing that 
others would like to have them. And then 
Mrs. Pottle’s frequent visits were not merely 
empty honors, for she had never once gone to 
consult Arabella without taking her something 
good to eat, or something nice to wear which she 
liked still better. Naturally then Arabella was 
in no haste to alter the situation, though her 
sympathy was just as sincere as it could 
reasonably have been expected to be. But she 
was human and her first feeling now was blank 
dismay. Yet she did not dare let this appear 
or say a word in opposition, knowing that her 
friend was not easy to turn once she had de- 
cided upon a course. And so — being at a 
loss what else to do — Arabella instinctively 


221 


The Little Hills 


took one of the sudden rhetorical flights that 
in other emergencies had wafted her beyond 
the reach of her friend’s steady-going common 
sense. 

“ Mandy ! Mandy ! My dear friend,” she 
implored almost in tears and with the greatest 
agitation. “ What in the world are you think- 
ing of ! Can it be possible that you mean to 
commit social suicide — that you really desire 
to lay down the social sceptre and abdicate at 
once and forever .? ” 

Mrs. Pottle looked at her — just as she ex- 
pected — much as a plodding turtle might look 
at a gyrating bird. This bewildered expres- 
sion told Arabella that she had flitted far 
enough. It also gave her courage to go on 
with perfect confidence, for she never bam- 
boozled anybody quite so completely as she 
always did herself. She spoke in the most 
beautiful way of Phoebe, saying that there 
could be no doubt of her warm-hearted re- 
sponse to the first offer of forgiveness. It 
would indeed be a simple matter and one very 
easy to settle if Phoebe alone had to be con- 
sidered. But — unfortunately — there were 
others, Arabella said shaking her head — the 


222 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

widow Wall for example and worst of all — there 
was old Mrs. Crabtree. At the mention of this 
dreaded name Mrs. Pottle’s face changed as 
much as Arabella anticipated. Its expression 
of determination was not nearly so set as it had 
been a moment before. And in truth the little 
shiver that Arabella herself gave was genuine 
enough. When it had had its full effect she 
went on : 

“ For you, with all your intelligence and 
knowledge of human nature, must know what 
the result will be, if you insist upon taking so 
rash a step. But maybe you haven’t taken 
quite time enough to think. Or possibly you 
are too broad-minded and large-souled to see 
really little things. That makes it all the 
more my duty — in affection and gratitude 
— to watch them for you. I’m bound to warn 
you of your danger. Take a little more time 
to see just how great it is. If you should 
make a public confession of being in the wrong 
what could you ever expect to do with Jane 
Wall.? Remember how she broke out that 
night at Phoebe’s. In my opinion her be- 
havior caused most of this trouble that you 
are in now.” 


223 


The Little Hills 


“ Well, then what am I to do?” demanded 
Mrs. Pottle crossly, all the natural shrewdness 
coming back to her gaze. 

Seeing it Arabella flew off again high above 
her friend’s practical head: “ That is not for me 
to say, my dear Mandy. I dare only point to 
the deep pit yawning at your unwary feet and 
implore you to look well before you leap. It is 
my humble duty to cling to your skirts and 
hold you back as long as my strength lasts. 
I can never stand still and see my lifelong 
benefactor commit social suicide — ” 

“ What under the shining sun are you driv- 
ing at ! ” cried Mrs. Pottle, a good deal fright- 
ened and angry because she was. “ I never 
know a bit more than the man in the moon 
what you mean when you go on like that. 
And you do it every chance you get.” 

Then Arabella saw that she had flown a 
little too far, and began crying without the 
slightest effort. 

“Yes, you do,” persisted Mrs. Pottle hardily. 
“ Every time I try to pin you down — you fly 
off like that. Now do for once say what you 
mean, real plain and sensible. Then we can 
tell what we are about,” she said in a softer tone. 


224 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

“Now — don’t go on like that either. You 
know perfectly well that I didn’t mean to hurt 
your feelings.” 

“ Yes,” sighed Arabella in gentle reproach. 
“ Nobody ever had a better heart than you’ve 
got, Mandy — but you’ve got a mighty sharp 
way too sometimes. And I do think you 
might remember that I mustn’t be upset like 
this, so that I can’t help crying and spoiling 
my looks — when the captain may come in the 
stage this very hour. Just wait a moment 
till I bathe my eyes and put on a little powder 
— so that I won’t look like a fright — if he 
should.” 

There was no heart hard enough to resist 
that. Mrs. Pottle’s melted at once for hers 
was not at all hard. She apologized and soon 
after went home as meek as a lamb, relying 
implicitly upon her friend’s ability to “ affect a 
reconciliation without humiliation,” which was 
Arabella’s lofty promise as they parted at the 
gate. On the next morning Mrs. Pottle’s faith 
was so strong that she had to take two black 
boys along to carry her grateful offerings to 
faithful friendship. The baskets were carefully 
covered from curious eyes, especially the widow 

Q 225 


The Little Hills 


Wall’s. But jealousy does not need to see and 
that watching lady waylaid the squire’s wife 
one afternoon and asked rather cruelly if she 
had noticed all that was going on up at 
Phoebe’s house since the strangers had come. 
Mrs. Pottle scorned to make any retort, but she 
burst in on Arabella declaring that she would 
not wait another day, vehemently vowing that 
if Arabella did not do something to make up 
the quarrel that very day, she would take the 
matter in her own hands. She repeated that 
this was what she should have done in the first 
place as she had wished to do. She owned that 
Phoebe was like her own daughter, declaring it 
was nothing but foolishness to let an outsider 
come between them and persuade her to dilly- 
dally — with everything getting worse every 
minute. 

The suddenness of the attack overwhelmed 
Arabella so that she could not gather her wits 
immediately. But it was not long before she 
saw that the end of her tether was reached and 
as soon as she could think she brought out her 
plan. It was really an inspiration and Mrs. 
Pottle instantly recognized it as such. Indeed 
there was nothing singular in its being both 
226 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

brilliant and practical, since — poor thing — her 
whole life had been spent in devising ways and 
means to make people do what they had no 
intention of doing. The scheme was to give 
a tea-party, at her own house as that was 
neutral ground, and invite everybody. Thus 
brought together on a purely social occasion 
there would be no need of apologies from any- 
body, and after meeting in this friendly manner, 
there could be no more coolness, the whole 
difficulty thus being silently and politely done 
with forever. 

“Well, I declare — you do beat all, Arabella 
— when you’ve a mind to,” declared Mrs. Pottle 
positively radiant with delight. “ Now, why 
couldn’t I have thought of that ? And I won- 
der why you didn’t think of it before. But 
better late than never. And it certainly is a 
nice plan. Of course you’ll let me send some 
of the things for the tea — since it is really 
given for me.” 

“Anything that you like — dearest Mandy. 
My sole aim is to please and serve you. And 
just for your own sake — if you don’t mind — 
it really seems advisable after all to invite old 
Mrs. Crabtree with the rest.” 


227 


The Little Hills 


The squire’s lady sat up straight and bris- 
tling, but she did not have time to say anything. 

“ For if we don’t invite her she will spoil the 
tea-party — just as sure as we live. I don’t 
know how she’d do it. Nobody ever can tell 
what she’ll do, but spoil it she will, unless we 
have her here where we can watch and smooth 
things over.” 

After some further argument Mrs. Pottle 
agreed that the enemy might be invited, decid- 
ing that her own feelings should not stand in 
the way of general harmony. Moreover she 
wrote the name at the very head of the list 
when Arabella brought out a pencil and piece 
of paper. The list of guests was not long 
enough to make it likely that any one would be 
left out, but the writing of the names pleased 
Arabella and impressed Mrs. Pottle. 

“There! We’ve got the new minister’s 
name of course and even got down Father 
Rowan’s though we have only seen him — poor 
old gentleman — through the window. But 
they say he is getting better and can walk now 
by holding on to something. Yet — don’t you 
really think, Mandy, that the tea-party would 
be a little more exclusive, and the reconcilia- 

228 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

tion rather more complete, if there were no 
gentlemen at all ? ” said Arabella. 

It had suddenly occurred to her that it might 
be a bit awkward to smooth things over, and 
maybe try to hold old Mrs. Crabtree in order, 
under the squire’s quizzical gaze. She remem- 
bered how often it had made her feel as if she 
were a very small piece of very thin glass. 
Yet she could not help hesitating. It must be 
either all or none of the gentlemen and she 
would have liked to invite the new minister. 

“ For after all there is a certain stimulus in 
the company of gentlemen. It somehow helps 
you to look your prettiest and be your bright- 
est,” she said rather absently and somewhat 
rashly. 

“ Do you mean Samuel Pottle ? For if you 
do I can just tell you that — ” Mrs. Pottle 
began. 

“ I meant the captain,” said Arabella with un- 
usual spirit, a toss of her head telling her opin- 
ion of all other men. “Sometimes I hardly 
know what to make of you, Mandy. To think 
of your saying a thing like that to me — me 
married to the captain! Well, when he comes 
— and m^ybe he’ll be here before that sun goes 


229 


The Little Hills 


down — I can tell him that I have had a chance 
while he was gone to find out my real, true 
friends.” 

Under the critical circumstances Mrs. Pottle 
could not afford to quarrel. She agreed rather 
hastily that the gentlemen should not be in- 
vited. Then to tell the whole truth she, her- 
self, was not particularly eager to have the 
squire in a position to observe what transpired. 
The one thing that she really desired was to 
have Phoebe there close to her side. And she 
said as much so promptly and plainly that this 
little tiff blew over. Then they both bent 
every energy to arranging the tea-party. The 
next thing to be decided was where the lady 
guests were to sit round the table. For a tea- 
party down in that country of leisurely good- 
living was a very different matter from the 
hasty, meagre function which goes by the same 
name elsewhere nowadays. Everybody sat 
down to enjoy an ample meal of rich viands, 
and it was some little time before Arabella 
could assign places to the guests in the strict 
order of their importance, and yet avoid bring- 
ing certain ladies too close together. 

“You might put Phoebe’s stepmother-in- 


230 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

law at your end of the table, suggested Mrs. 
Pottle. “ Jane Wall will fit in anywhere. Of 
course Phoebe will sit by me.” 

Arabella cried out in dismay : “ That won’t 

do at all ! Why, there’s old Mrs. Crabtree on 
my right hand — Pd never dare put her any- 
where else. And you’ve heard about her go- 
ing up to Phoebe’s already and badgering 
the stranger. Howsoever — I understand it 
was nip and tuck — for the newcomer’s a tar- 
tar too. And now that I come to think of it, 
maybe with me between them, they couldn’t 
get at each other and I could watch them 
both.” 

Then ensued a lengthy and interesting dis- 
cussion as to all that Arabella would need for 
the supper, and what the squire’s lady might 
have the privilege of contributing. This of 
course would be a great deal since it was really 
a large social enterprise that Arabella had so 
gravely undertaken. To make sure that noth- 
ing might be forgotten or overlooked, she wrote 
down everything that she now could think of 
on large sheets of paper. This first list was a 
long one yet before the great occasion was over 
it was nearly as long again. For Arabella 


231 


The Little Hills 

could not sleep at all on the following night, 
because her head fairly whirled with charming 
ideas as she continually thought of something 
more still nicer and prettier. However the 
first list did to start with and Mrs. Pottle hid 
it in her capacious pocket without a word or 
thought of protest. She merely urged that the 
invitation — especially Phoebe’s — should be 
given at once. Accordingly Arabella put on 
her bonnet in such haste and agitation that its 
gauzy pink ribbons fluttered as she tied the 
dainty strings under her quivering chin. She 
promised faithfully that she would go to invite 
Phoebe the first one, and just as soon as she 
had been to the post-office to get the letter that 
she felt sure the captain must have written, in 
the event of his being delayed. 

“ Is my bonnet on straight, Mandy ? ” she 
asked anxiously as they paused outside the 
gate for a last word before going their differ- 
ent ways. “ I wouldn’t like to look untidy 
because I’m hurried, if he should come to- 
day in the stage. It seems as if I heard it rum- 
bling down the hill at this very minute,” she 
said in sudden happy excitement. “ Some- 
times I wish there weren’t so many trees and 


232 


Arabella’s Inspiration 

the leayes were not so thick. I can’t see 
who is in the stage till it comes real near. 
Well, I must hurry — in case he is coming.” 

And so with a gay, smiling nod she tripped 
airily off on her high heels with her frivolous 
ribbons fluttering. 


XV 

GREAT EXPECTATIONS 

The stage was very late that day and did 
not bring the letter after all. But Hillery 
Kibbey, just turning his horses to drive away 
from the post-office, called out to tell Arabella 
that he felt almost certain the letter would come 
in the next mail. She nodded in cheerful con- 
fidence being quite sure of it. Then, bowing 
and smiling, she made her graceful way through 
the little crowd which stood back — hat in 
hand as it always did — and gayly set off to 
give the invitations to the tea-party. 

Drawing near Phoebe’s gate she saw the new 
minister pass through it on his way across the 
big road. It was close to the time when Mother 
Rowan usually came out after getting Father 
Rowan settled for the night. But Arabella 
knew nothing of the newcomer’s habits and 
went on without warning, and Mother Rowan 


234 


Great Expectations 

did appear in the front door just as she flut- 
tered up the porch steps. For a cool breeze 
began to blow now as evening came on, set- 
ting all her pink ribbons in lively motion. 
Shadows were already gathering under the 
vines too yet there was light enough for her to 
see the strange, small face looking down upon 
her in scornful hostility and to notice the tall 
gaunt figure instantly squaring itself. But she 
merely wondered mildly without the least idea 
what the look and motion meant. Discourtesy 
of any kind was foreign to her own nature, and 
there was no harshness or bitterness in her heart 
toward any living creature. Accordingly she 
now went straight up to Mother Rowan — in a 
little whirlwind of rosy streamers — and held 
out her thin hand which looked pathetically 
like a bird's foot. 

“ It is a pleasure to see a relation of 
Phoebe’s,” she said in her finest, most polished 
manner. “ A very great pleasure.” 

Mother Rowan stood like a grim image 
carven in rough stone. 

“ Do take a seat,” said Phoebe in nervous 
haste, placing a chair. “ And you too — please, 
Mother Rowan.” 

235 


The Little Hills 


Arabella took the seat saying that it was 
hardly worth while as she had but. a moment 
to stay. Mother Rowan then dropped into the 
other chair, as if she did not wish to take any 
unfair advantage by standing up. 

“ For I’ve come only on a pleasing errand,” 
said Arabella in her ingratiating tone. “And 
I must be getting home before dark. I’ve 
come to invite you both to a tea-party on 
to-morrow evening at four o’clock,” she said 
looking brightly from the grim face to the 
uneasy one. 

“ How kind — and nice,” Phoebe cried warmly. 

A sudden impulse moved Arabella and she 
turned with a smile to beam at Mother Rowan. 
“A very simple little entertainment but — if 
you’ll allow me to say so. Madam — it is given 
especially in honor of your arrival,” she said. 

“ What for ? ” demanded Mother Rowan — 
grimly — and naturally enough — since she had 
never in the whole course of her hard life had 
anything for nothing and did not expect or 
wish to have. 

“ Oh ! ” gasped Arabella who was also hav- 
ing an entirely new experience. She was so 
disconcerted that she could not think for a 
236 


Great Expectations 

moment. But she managed to gather her 
wits. “ For Phoebe’s sake. We are all happy 
to do anything we can for her. Then it 
is our custom to show some attention to 
visitors — ” 

“So I’m a visitor, hey.^^ And him too, I 
suppose ! ” cried Mother Rowan. “ Well it 
was my understanding — and his — that we had 
come to live here and make this our home.” 

“ Why — of course — of course — ” declared 
Phoebe in alarmed haste. “ Mrs. Lightfoot didn’t 
mean that you hadn’t. She never thought — ” 

“ Seems to me that no outsider’s got any 
cause to meddle one way or another,” retorted 
Mother Rowan relentlessly. “Whether we’re 
a-visiting or a-living here in this little old 
house — is nobody’s business but mine and 
yours and his.” 

In helpless confusion Phoebe mechanically 
asked Arabella to have a drink of cool water. 
But the offer was declined almost as hastily 
as it was made. Arabella still had not the 
remotest idea why this strange woman was 
acting so, or what made her eyes snap in that 
alarming manner, but she did not intend to be 
left alone with her. Only the promise to Mrs. 


237 


The Little Hills 


Pottle kept her from running away at once 
without saying anything more about the tea- 
party. And she left just as soon as she had 
fairly pressed the invitation, and Phoebe had 
said that they would be delighted to come to 
the tea-party, glancing meantime rather appre- 
hensively at Mother Rowan. 

Dusk was falling by this time and Arabella 
ran down to the widow Wall’s at a rapid pace. 
She wanted to get there before dark and see 
whether the blush-roses were yet in full bloom. 
Those blooming in the widow’s little garden 
were the prettiest and sweetest in the whole 
country. And Arabella said as much — hav- 
ing set her heart on having a big bowl full 
of the roses in the center of the tea-table — 
when the widow Wall met her at the gate. 
There was a slight chill in that mild lady’s 
greeting but it began to thaw with Arabella’s 
first flattering word. In another moment she 
was as wax in the flatterer’s hands, as many 
less guileless people became when Arabella 
exerted herself. For the craft that we live by 
necessarily becomes more or less of an art. 
Then the mere mention of the tea-party went 
to the widow Wall’s head as sparkling wine goes 
238 


Great Expectations 

to a weak one wholly unused to strong drink. 
It was not often that anything so intoxicating 
came her joyless way. She not only offered to 
give every blush-rose that she had and every 
bud showing a tinge of pink, but all the rest 
of her flowers and to loan everything else 
that she possessed. She was not hurt on 
learning that she was not the first to be in- 
vited. That fact came out through a slight 
slip of Arabella’s supple tongue. But the 
widow Wall had long ago learned, that those 
who have little to give must take what is given 
when they can get it. 

And Arabella was most cordial : “You must 
come early and stay till the last. But I can’t 
stay another minute. It’s almost dark now 
and I’ve got to run clear back to the parsonage 
and invite the new minister’s aunt. Of course 
I wasn’t going to invite her before I did you, 
Jane — you may be perfectly certain of that — 
yet a certain amount of respect is due our 
pastor’s relations no matter how odd they may 
be. But I must say that the new minister 
has not given us much encouragement to be 
friendly.” 

“ He’s done better lately,” said the widow 


239 


The Little Hills 


Wall. “ He’s certainly doing his duty by 
Phoebe. And — ” with a quick change of 
tone, “maybe he won’t think it right to let 
you come home by yourself — being as it’s 
so near dark. And I honestly believe there 
wouldn’t be a mite of harm in his walking 
home with you — so long as he knows all 
about the captain. If he should, don’t fail 
to stop here. Then you can have a big bunch 
of the blush-roses to take home. But without 
a gentleman — I wouldn’t dare gather them 
this late for fear of those little garden snakes 
that always begin to creep as the cool of the 
evening comes on.” She could hardly wait 
to be alone before hurrying indoors to put on 
her nicest worked collar with her best breast- 
pin. And it was not till she saw Arabella’s 
candle shining far down the big road, that this 
finery was laid aside with a sigh. 

The next morning found the whole feminine 
community up before the sun and in a twitter 
of delightful excitement. The widow Wall 
only waited to see Arabella’s front door 
propped open to take over a great basket of 
the blush-roses. She also offered to stay and 
help with everything there was to do. But 


240 


Great Expectations 

Arabella declined the offer with tact that left no 
wound. She did not think a great deal of the 
widow Wall’s taste. Then it was not by any 
means advisable that she — or anybody — should 
be there the whole time seeing everything that 
Mandy Pottle sent. She would be sure to 
notice whether it was all used for the tea-party 
— maybe whether it was really needed when 
asked for — and most likely say something 
about it too. So that the widow Wall was 
most tactfully sent away, clear up to the par- 
sonage to ask Miss Dale for some asparagus 
plumes. There was plenty of this exquisite 
green mist afloat in the gardens nearer by. 
But Arabella could not think of a more polite 
way of getting rid of the widow Wall. Nor 
could she think of anything else to ask Miss 
Dale for, and everybody must be asked for 
something, or else feel hurt by being left out. 
Then there was Phoebe. It was not easy for 
Arabella to know what to ask from her, who had 
so little to divide among so many. But she 
suddenly remembered hearing Phoebe’s hens 
cackle and on a happy thought called after 
the widow Wall, asking her to ask Phoebe for 
three or four eggs — very fresh ones — to make 


241 


The Little Hills 


the foam snow-white on the top of the floating- 
island. 

Now it happened that Phoebe had put the 
very last eggs she had — and the freshest — 
under a sitting hen barely an hour before. She 
was more than willing to take them out again 
regardless of the hen’s protest, but they had 
been sat upon long enough to get thoroughly 
warm. That unluckily made the sending of 
them rather a delicate question of conscience. 
Phoebe did not know just what was right to 
do. She dared not tell the widow Wall exactly 
how the matter stood, knowing her utter in- 
ability to keep anything to herself. And so, 
leaving her on the porch, she ran indoors and 
asked Mother Rowan what she thought. But 
that lady merely said shortly that beggars 
should not be choosers, which did not help 
Phoebe at all. Finally, however, she compro- 
mised by pulling the protesting hen off the 
nest, and putting the eggs in cold water for a 
while, before sending them with a scrupulous 
message that they were the freshest she had, 
but not quite as fresh as she would have liked 
them to be. 

Meantime Arabella herself had gone all the 

242 


Great Expectations 

way down to old Mrs. Crabtree’s to borrow her 
solid silver forks — though she would have 
preferred, much as she liked elegance, to use 
some plated ones belonging to another neigh- 
bor whom she was not afraid of — just to show 
that there was no hard feeling anywhere. This 
tea-party was to be wholly and solely for har- 
mony and she did not shirk anything however 
difficult. And even old Mrs. Crabtree was 
unusually amiable, and kind and thoughtful 
enough to offer a long table-cloth. But one 
had already been borrowed together with two 
smaller ones for the side tables, from a lady 
living at the other end of the big road. No- 
body would have thought of borrowing them 
from her, since she was rather outside the ex- 
clusive circle. But she did not intend to stay 
there and so offered to lend the table-cloths 
as an entering wedge. For after all human 
nature was much the same even in this remote 
corner of the world. 

But the great centre of all the delightful 
excitement was the squire’s large white house. 
There it had broken out while he was eating 
his breakfast alone. Mrs. Pottle had other 
things to do than waiting on him that morning. 
243 


The Little Hills 


She did not turn her head when he hoped 
aloud that the fair Arabella could get along 
and manage the tea-party without his pipe or 
armchair. He admitted that she would have 
to have them if she wanted them. He owned 
quite frankly that he had never made a per- 
sonal claim to anything in his own house, ex- 
cept the one big nail that he hung his hat on 
behind the dining-room door. He solemnly 
promised — rising from the table — that being 
left in peaceable possession of the rusty nail, he 
had nothing to say though the house should 
be stripped from garret to cellar. And so, 
taking down his hat, he drove off while his 
wife — disdaining any reply — went ahead doing 
exactly as she pleased as she always did. Nor 
did she hesitate to call two men from their 
work in the fields — with wagon and team — to 
haul a barrel of soft water from her cistern 
over to Arabella, though she did not think 
that the tea and coffee would be any better 
than if made with the hard water from Ara- 
bella’s well. Arabella did not think so either, 
but she had wanted some soft water for her com- 
plexion, and this seemed as good a chance to 
get it as she was likely to have. The truth 


244 


Great Expectations 

was that she made the most of the great oppor- 
tunity in every respect. Mrs. Pottle knew this 
perfectly well and considered it fair enough, in 
view of all that Arabella’s giving the entertain- 
ment was to do for herself. She appreciated 
the service so much that she took extra pains 
to spare Arabella’s feelings by covering almost 
everything that she sent. But of course she 
could not help the neighbors smelling the large 
rich cakes which went by still fragrantly hot 
from the oven. Yet the whole air was filled 
with appetizing odors and nobody could tell 
exactly which kitchen they came from. Then 
there was always more or less mystery about 
what went on in Arabella’s. But the greatest 
stir followed Mrs. Pottle’s handsomest cut- 
glass bowl because it was so full of floating- 
island — heaped up like drifted snow — that it 
could not be covered and flashed far through 
the dazzling sunshine. The cut-glass cups too 
had to be set out safely apart and borne very 
cautiously on a big silver waiter. Altogether 
the preparations could hardly have been upon 
a more splendid scale — and it was many and 
many a day before that famous tea-party was 
to be forgotten. 


245 


XVI 


THE UNEXPECTED THAT ALWAYS HAPPENS 

On the first stroke of four o’clock all the 
front gates opened under the great trees along 
the big road, and the ladies set out for the 
tea-party dressed in their best, and trying to 
walk as slowly as though nothing unusual were 
going on. 

It was a soft gray day. A tender haze floated 
down from the gentle hills enfolding this quiet 
corner of the green earth. A moist breeze 
blew over the flowering gardens and across the 
blooming clover fields, but it was barely a 
scented sigh. Even the larks in the meadows 
were silent for once. The fragrant ' stillness 
was so complete that the faint cooing of a dove 
came from the cool shadows of the far-off 
woods. 

But the opening of the gates changed all this. 
A startled pair of red wings flew up and down 
246 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 

again, alighting on the widow Wall’s garden 
fence where they began whirling, dancing and 
singing as excitedly as if they too had been 
invited to the tea-party. But they flitted away 
when she waved her hand at them. She wanted 
to hear as well as see everything that was to be 
heard or seen. It had been hard enough to 
wait for the striking of the hour. Indeed she 
had run into the garden more than once to take 
a look at those fragile flowers — the four- 
o’clocks — which open their blue eyes when 
the morning-glories cease blowing their silent 
trumpets. But it seemed as if they never would 
awaken on that memorable afternoon. She had 
been dressed even to the careful putting on of 
her darned lace mitts for at least two hours. 
Then she was tired of standing behind the win- 
dow curtain and watching the big road. Yet 
she could not possibly sit down and be still — 
wrought up to such a pitch — and it was really 
necessary to keep a constant lookout in order 
to know when Mrs. Pottle went by to the tea- 
party. For of course none of the other ladies 
could think of going till she had gone. So 
that the widow Wall could only watch and 
fidget wondering what could make her so late. 

247 


The Little Hills 


She had some slight inkling of the truth, which 
was that certain critical preparations for the 
feast must be left to the latest moment in order 
to be quite perfect And, sure enough, when 
Mrs. Pottle did go by at last she bore a cov- 
ered dish — too delicate to be intrusted to any 
one else — in her own steady and capable hands. 

The widow Wall was almost upon her heels 
following as close behind as she might venture, 
longing to know what was in that dish. Yet 
she could not help stopping to look up the big 
road to see who else was coming. Most of the 
guests were already in sight though not near 
enough for her to recognize their features. 
But she knew that the little figure in black 
almost lost under the long veil was Phoebe. 
And the tall one with her — walking like a 
soldier marching into battle — must be her 
stepmother-in-law. There could not be much 
doubt about the identity of the third lady 
either. Only the new minister’s eccentric 
aunt would be darting about in that wild 
manner and stopping now and then to look 
at some ridiculous bug or troublesome weed. 
Nobody with her wits about her would be 
keeping sensible people from coming on to 
248 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 


the tea-party, as she was doing. There were 
other ladies beyond this group — the owner of 
the table-cloths for one — but they were of no 
special interest to the widow Wall. Turning 
she now looked down the big road and saw old 
Mrs. Crabtree and Anne. On a first impulse 
she walked faster. Few loitered to meet that 
old lady. But after a hasty pace or two the 
widow Wall cast another glance. The mother 
and daughter were so seldom seen away from 
home or anywhere together, that the very fact 
was enough to draw a curious gaze. Then the 
widow Wall’s curiosity was great and just as 
she glanced round again there came a dazzling 
burst of sunshine out of the veiled blue. In it 
she noticed that the old lady was wearing her 
famous brocade, a faded remnant of former 
splendor. It was not often that the neighbors 
got a glimpse of it. She was too lazy to put it 
on or even get it out and let them look at it. 
There was a tradition that tarnished threads of 
real gold and silver were interwoven with its 
dim garlands of silken flowers. But Mrs. 
Pottle had always hooted at the idea, and 
remembering that, it now struck the widow 
Wall that this was a good chance to see for 


249 


The Little Hills 


herself, and perhaps be able hereafter “ to face 
Mandy down.” There would not be much of 
an opportunity to examine the silk after reach- 
ing Arabella’s on account of the crowd and the 
house being so small. Accordingly she stood 
still in the middle of the big road waiting for 
them to draw nearer. It seemed as if the stiff 
brocade — standing out like an old-fashioned 
parasol — really did glitter in the sun as though 
it were true about the gold and silver. She could 
see quite distinctly. Then she chanced to turn 
her attention from the mother to the daughter, 
and — as she declared afterward in telling 
Phoebe about it — she “ nearly fell down right 
in her own tracks.” She did not know at first 
what was the matter with Anne, what in the 
world made her look so strange. But in another 
moment she knew. The false front had come ! 
Hillery Kibbey had executed his commission 
faithfully as he always did. No hair could 
possibly have been thicker or blacker or more 
bushy than that which now surrounded poor 
Anne’s wasted, wan, pinched and freckled face. 
The effect was so extraordinary that the widow 
Wall could only stare with dropped jaw. She 
wondered what the old lady thought, whether 

250 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 

her sharp eyes were growing dull, or whether 
they had not looked at her daughter at all which 
appeared most likely. Then looking again at 
Anne she saw such a pitiful appeal in the pale 
little eyes that her own kind heart was touched. 
She looked away just as soon as she could, and 
moving closer to Anne’s side drew her thin arm 
within hers which was not much more round 
or strong. And so they went on at a safe dis- 
tance ahead of the old lady, clear to Arabella’s. 
In telling Phoebe about it the widow Wall said 
that she was so sorry for poor Anne that she 
was not ashamed to go in with her. 

All the guests gathered very promptly and 
Phoebe was among the first. She was ex- 
quisitely rosy from the walk and excitement. 
Her pretty arms and neck looked modestly 
lovely through the thin muslin of her simple 
black dress. Her brown eyes were almost as 
bright as soft and her brown hair curled and 
curled all over her little head, as if fairly rol- 
licking in its brief escape from the gloom of 
that long veil. As soon as she had greeted the 
hostess she went straight up to Mrs. Pottle in 
the sweet old way and said how long it seemed 
since she had seen her, that she could not tell 


251 


The Little Hills 


how it had happened but was determined that 
it should never happen again. Then Mrs. Pot- 
tle suddenly turned round and shook hands 
with Mother Rowan so cordially that that lady 
was instantly suspicious and resented her con- 
descension. She would have said what she 
thought too, but there was no time. Arabella 
saw what was coming and hastily threw herself 
into the breach. With perfect social tact she 
managed to set everybody chatting at once in 
the liveliest, pleasantest manner in the world. 
There was only one other alarm. This was 
when Mother Rowan abruptly sat down next 
old Mrs. Crabtree, and that old lady threw back 
her handsome head and looked under her spec- 
tacles, as she always did when she meant mis- 
chief. But this danger also was averted by 
Arabella’s instantly inviting the company in to 
supper a little earlier than had been arranged. 
In fact those in front saw Mrs. Pottle’s servants 
scurrying out the back door. The awkward 
mischance might have upset almost anybody 
but Arabella, and indeed it was particularly 
embarrassing to her because of a vaguely 
grand way she had of referring to a retinue 
of servants. Moreover she had stipulated that 
252 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 

her friend’s servants should be kept out of 
sight, and that the supper should be served by 
her own maid, hired and capped for the occa- 
sion. Still all of us must now and then make the 
best of a bad fix and everybody thought that 
Arabella carried off this one with a great deal 
of grace. 

Then it really was very little noticed because 
of the pleasant flutter over getting the ladies 
settled in their proper places. There was 
barely room for them to squeeze between the 
table and the whitewashed wall, but of course 
that only made everybody smile and talk more 
gayly. And most delightful was the admiring 
surprise over the perfectly satisfactory manner 
in which these had been assigned. Hereafter 
there could be no further question of Arabella’s 
knowing exactly how all social matters should 
be arranged. Even the new minister’s aunt 
was pleased because she sat near the big bowl 
of blush-roses and could watch a tiny green 
creature climbing a slender stem. And the 
widow Wall had nothing to complain of, though 
it was plain to her that she was expected to fit 
in anywhere. She was used to taking what 
other people did not want, and there were 
253 


The Little Hills 


plenty of good things to eat all along the table. 
Then she took great pride in the blush-roses 
and in knowing that the ladies would know 
where they came from. There were more than 
enough for the table. She noticed proudly that 
bunches of them looped back the fresh muslin 
curtains. Yes, her blush-roses were to be seen 
everywhere, even among the asparagus boughs 
in the fireplace. She could not help calling 
attention to the beauty and richness of the 
floral decoration but the lady to whom she 
spoke merely nodded rather absently. For the 
supper was already being served by the agitated 
maid, who sidled cautiously round the table 
keeping so close to the wall that her back was 
soon quite white, and holding the smoking 
dishes very tight in both hands. Nobody was 
impolite enough to notice that other black hands 
sometimes handed her the dishes through the 
kitchen door. That is nobody noticed them but 
old Mrs. Crabtree and she made no comment — 
at the time. 

On the whole the entertainment could hardly 
have begun more favorably. And every mo- 
ment seemed to make its brilliant success more 
secure. The last of Arabella’s nervousness 
254 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 

now wore off. She cast an open look of tri- 
umph across the table. And Mrs. Pottle’s 
decided nod in response said that she thought 
so too. Then glancing at Phoebe who sat 
close by her side cooing in her ear like a dove, 
she nodded again as much as to say that she 
could never forget what Arabella was doing, 
and would not neglect to make a proportionate 
return for such service. Thereupon Arabella’s 
naturally light heart actually danced in her 
bosom. She leaned back in her chair beaming 
in silent radiance. But she soon was reminded 
of duty and caution, seeing old Mrs. Crabtree 
cut a baiting eye over at Mother Rowan who stif- 
fened and squared herself. Wide awake in an 
instant Arabella sat up very straight — so that 
the old ladies could not catch another glimpse 
of one another — and began talking so quickly 
and fluently that they could not get a word in 
edgewise. A little later she arose to lead the 
way back to the cool parlor, and these two 
ladies followed as peaceably as the gentlest 
of the company. 

No, it was neither old Mrs. Crabtree nor 
Mother Rowan who broke up Arabella’s tea- 
party, in utter rout and consternation, just as it 

255 


The Little Hills 


was closing with undimmed brilliancy. It was 
Father Rowan — whom nobody had thought of 
in connection with the occasion — who did it. 
And it was the squire — likewise entirely left 
out — who brought the disastrous news. He 
came dashing up in his wife’s carriage in- 
stead of his own buggy. She asked why he 
was doing this and so caused more confu- 
sion. As he tried to explain a black boy ran 
up and shouted something that set most of 
the ladies screaming and sent some of them 
wildly running up the big road. In the uproar 
only Mother Rowan heard what the squire said. 
He spoke to her in a low tone, and without a 
word in reply she allowed him to help her into 
the carriage and they drove off together. 

“Well — in all my born days!” cried Mrs. 
Pottle in high displeasure. “ Since I was 
created — ” but she paused and turned. 

Phoebe clung to her with trembling little 
hands. “ Oh — tell me,” she implored. “ What 
is it? Something must have happened to 
Father Rowan. I feel it. Please come with me 
and let’s find out as quickly as we can. It was 
wrong to leave him so long. Mother Rowan 
didn’t want to come but I persuaded her. 

256 


The Unexpected that Always Happens 

And it’s all my fault — I’m making mistakes 
every way — I’m to blame for this too — as 
well as all the rest.” 

“ I shall not allow you to be blamed,” said 
Mrs. Pottle warmly. “And I won’t let you 
torment yourself, either. There, child ! There ! 
Maybe the boy knows. Ten to one but he’s at 
the bottom of it whatever it is. Where is that 
little black rascal } Gone too — a-chasing after 
the carriage. ’Pon my word they all act as if 
they were crazy. • Come — we’d better hurry 
on up to your house.” 

The other guests, or at least so many of them 
as had not run before, now walked behind at 
a respectful distance talking in hushed whis- 
pers as people do in the presence of some 
sudden calamity. When they reached Phcebe’s 
gate they found the new minister standing 
there — waiting — with a very grave face. 


s 


257 


XVII 


CLOUDS RIFTED WITH SILVER 

He spoke to Phoebe as she ran by him 
toward the open door. She hardly heard 
and her eyes were so full of tears that she 
could not see. She was too intent on find- 
ing Father Rowan to notice any one else. 

The new minister followed, keeping at her 
side to the door : “ The old gentleman isn’t 
there. He has gone. That is — but let me 
tell you how it was.” 

She stopped now more alarmed than ever. 

“ Don’t go in. Stay out on the porch. 
Persuade her to sit down, Mr. Wood,” said 
Mrs. Pottle, once more in capable control. 
“ Then wait a moment till I send away those 
people. There are too many. Phoebe will 
be better with only you and me,” she said, turn- 
ing back to the gate. 

The kind neighbors were still standing there 
258 


Clouds rifted with Silver 

wondering, anxious to do whatever was kindest 
yet uncertain whether to stay or go. But the 
few decisive words spoken by Mrs. Pottle 
started them off at once though it was plain 
that they resented her telling them what to 
do. 

She cared nothing for that thinking only 
of Phoebe : “ There now ! ” she said sitting 
down close to her side, and looking eagerly at 
the new minister. “ Tell us all about it.” 

“ I was sitting by my window when Mr. 
Rowan came out of the house,” he began. “ It 
surprised me to see him because I had under- 
stood that he could not walk alone. And he 
did so with difficulty by holding on to the fence. 
When he reached the front gate he stopped 
and looked quickly up and down the big 
road in an agitated sort of way. I thought 
he needed aid of some sort and hurried down- 
stairs. But the squire came in sight just then 
driving home as usual at that hour and the 
old gentleman hailed him. I have often heard 
them chatting through the window and so 
I paused. It seemed to me that the old 
gentleman made some request. I saw the 
squire hesitate though I did not hear what he 
259 


The Little Hills 


said at first. But after a little more talk he 
nodded heartily and drove off saying loud 
enough for me to hear, that it was a pleasure 
to loan the horse and buggy, and that he 
would send them back at once — just as soon 
as he reached home — and with them a trusty 
man to drive.” 

So far all was quite clear and usual, to 
borrow and lend being entirely in the regular 
order in this country where there was nothing 
for hire. Then it was well known how oblig- 
ing the squire was to every one and that he 
already had a great liking for Father Rowan. 
It was therefore evident that his momentary 
hesitation must have been solely on account 
of this borrower’s helplessness. He had, how- 
ever, thought to provide for that in sending the 
reliable servant. 

“ And he did send him — didn’t he ? ” urged 
Phoebe wringing her hands. “ The squire 
always keeps his word. He certainly sent the 
man to drive and take care of Father Rowan — 
surely, surely the squire knew that he wasn’t 
able yet to take care of himself.” 

“Yes,” he said. “The man helped him into 
the buggy most carefully and started to get in 
260 


Clouds rifted with Silver 

after him. But the old gentleman suddenly 
seized the reins, struck the horse with the whip 
— almost running over the driver — and was off 
and nearly out of sight before the man could 
jump up out of the dust. I was so taken by 
surprise that I didn’t know what to do. When 
I ran to help the driver and asked what 
it meant, he merely shook his head — saying 
he must make haste to tell his master — and 
limped off toward home. But he had barely 
had time to get there when I saw the horse 
coming back — quietly jogging along — without 
the old gentleman and all that was left of 
the buggy was one wheel and the shafts.” 

Beyond this he knew no more than the 
others, but said what he could to comfort 
Phoebe. He thought that the quiet return of 
the horse gave reason to hope that there had 
been no runaway. Mrs. Pottle, hastily doing 
what she could too, said that it was most 
likely that the horse had merely pulled the 
hitch-rein in two after being tied and had 
broken the buggy by striking the fence in his 
haste to get to the stable. Then she added 
with a touch of asperity that she had warned 
the squire of that very thing over and over. 

261 


The Little Hills 


Those Gold-dust Morgans always were rest- 
less in harness, she went on. They hated it 
anyway and said so just as plainly as if they 
could talk. Though the finest of saddle-horses 
they never could bear to be hitched to any 
vehicle. Somehow or other they always man- 
aged to get rid of it yet they were not at all 
vicious. Most likely, so she argued again, 
this horse had simply pulled the hitch-rein in 
two after the old gentleman had tied him 
somewhere, and the buggy had been broken 
by coming in contact with a stump. She was 
quite sure that nothing serious had happened. 
But she suddenly thought of her husband’s 
absence and at once said that she must hurry 
home. So large a place with so many re- 
tainers could not be left without a head when 
evening was coming on. And she got up 
hastily and went away, promising to come 
back as soon as she could. 

After she had gone Phoebe paced the porch 
in misery that could not rest straining her eyes 
toward the hill over which the searchers had 
driven. Then she turned to the new minister 
and asked him to go with her to the top of the 
hill. Helpless waiting might not be such tor- 

262 


Clouds rifted with Silver 

ture if she could see farther off. He arose 
instantly and they started in silence. On the 
hillside he saw that her strength flagged and 
drew her hand to his arm and held it there — 
such a small hand and trembling so. It was 
growing late now and the last light lingered 
on the hilltop when they reached the summit 
and stood still. There were clouds lying like 
slender steel bars across the western windows 
of heaven shutting in its golden treasury. But 
they did not notice these slight signs of a storm 
and she had forgotten that her hand yet lay on 
his arm. Thus they stood, looking silently down 
the other side of the hill into a deep valley, 
wherein the white mists strove with the black 
shadows. 

“ How still it is,” she sighed at last. “ There 
isn't a living thing to be seen or heard. Those 
moving dark spots 'way down yonder are only 
small bushes swayed by the wind.” Then she 
shivered a little at a faint, far-off, long-drawn 
sound. “ I wonder why we always think of 
trouble — and bad luck — when we hear a dog 
howl ? ” 

“ Perhaps it's because he is in trouble himself 
and having bad luck — he doesn't howl if he isn't.” 

263 


The Little Hills 


But his light tone did not win the smile that 
he hoped to see. 

He tried again: “ Or maybe the dog’s howl- 
ing touches some subtle chord of sympathy 
between the brute and the human. Yet I 
rather think that it reaches the superstition 
bred in the southern bone. I never deny 
that it’s in the very marrow of my own. Why 
should I — or anybody else.^ It proves imagi- 
nation,” he said smiling. “And that’s a good 
thing to have.” 

She was bending forward, gazing intently 
into the shadowy valley. But she shrank back, 
clinging closer to his arm as a bat flew by 
almost touching her bare head. 

“ See ! ” he cried gayly. “ There is the same 
thing in another form. Your black nurses told 
you that if a bat once touched your beautiful 
hair, you could never get rid of it without 
losing some of those lovely locks.” 

This time she laughed a little too as if to 
keep from crying and she did not try to speak. 
She dared not trust her own voice feeling the 
danger of breaking down. For she had en- 
dured about as much as she was strong enough 
to bear. Her slight strength of mind and body 
264 


Clouds rifted with Silver 


was wholly exhausted. And her far greater 
strength of heart and spirit also was near fail- 
ing. Both of these had been heavily taxed of 
late. This last and heaviest strain had drawn 
them quite to the breaking point. It was only 
by utter silence that she still kept a semblance 
of self-control at this moment. And now out 
of the whitened dimness there rose — unutter- 
ably desolate, mysterious and melancholy — the 
cry of a whip-poor-will. It smote her very 
heartstrings like a powerful touch on an over- 
strung harp — and set all her dumb anguish 
quivering into sobbing words. 

“ What shall I do' — if — harm has come to 
him ! The kind old man — ” she said brok- 
enly. “ And I thought he was beginning to 
like me — and that I could make up for the 
wrong I had done. But this is worse. It was 
a mistake to bring the old people to a strange 
place. And I did it only to ease my con- 
science.” 

He did not know what w^s in her mind, but 
he loved her and love can always divine some- 
what. Then he was tender-hearted and could 
not see such piteous distress unmoved. But 
the little hand on his arm was fluttering as if it 
265 


The Little Hills 


might be withdrawn at any moment. And so 
he stood still, fearing lest she might feel the 
plunging of his heart against her quivering 
fingers. 

“ All the trouble has come from my own lack 
of moral courage,’* she went on more slowly 
much at a loss how to put her feeling into 
words. “ I never could bear to hurt any one 
even when it was right. I wasn’t strong 
enough to resist doing wrong — though I 
didn’t want to do it — when I knew it would 
relieve another’s pain. But — sometimes — it 
is so hard to tell whether you have a right to 
consult your own — ” she murmured, faltering 
into bewildered, wordless silence. 

Yet somehow, part of the truth flashed from 
her heart to his. He instantly understood far 
better than she ever could understand. It now 
came to him with wonderful clearness that this 
soft little soul was blindly trying to solve one 
of the greatest problems of spiritual life: that 
appalling problem which sets what we owe to 
ourselves against what we owe to some one else. 
None of us perhaps — not even the wisest and 
strongest — have ever been able to see the way 
in this quite clearly. Poor little Phoebe could 
266 


Clouds rifted with Silver 

only spread the wings of her spirit toward the 
unseen path like a storm-beaten bird flying in 
the dark. 

Yet she was still fluttering toward the light: 
“ For I didn’t want to marry him,” she said 
so faintly that the words were barely a sighing 
breath. “ I never would — if there had been 
any other way to set his mind at rest. Oh, 
I couldn’t — coiildnt — if there had been the 
least chance of his living — poor fellow. That’s 
just what makes it so bad.” The little brown 
head sank very low now and she took her hand 
from his arm to cover her face. 

It was all that he could do to keep from tak- 
ing her in his strong arms and trying to soothe 
her like a suffering child. She looked so small 
and desolate and helpless standing there alone 
on the hilltop against the darkening sky. 

“It’s a sin to marry without love — even to 
give peace to the dying, ” she murmured. 

He could not see her face distinctly for dusk 
had fallen, but there was something in her voice 
that made him forget caution. He took her 
hand and drew it within his arm and held it 
close. The tender, protecting clasp gave her 
courage and she told him the whole truth as 
267 


The Little Hills 


well as she could, as fully indeed as she under- 
stood it herself. He said nothing for some 
time. A sense of awe, a feeling that he stood 
in the presence of The Mysteries held him 
silent and motionless. He dared not lay hand 
on the rent veil of this soul’s temple. Hardly 
might he lift his eyes to the white light that 
shone from it. 

“ For it isn’t true that pity is akin to love,” 
she said after a while. 

“ Others have confused the two,” he said 
quickly. “ You shouldn’t reproach yourself 
for making a mistake that so many have 
made.” 

“ But it wasn’t a mistake,” she said simply. 
“ I knew better. I knew even then that love 
and pity were not at all the same though I 
didn’t know what love was like.” 

“ Do you know now ? ” he said still more 
quickly. “ I hope so for I do — since I’ve 
known you.” 

Then he drew her softly into his arms and 
held her close, bending his head down till his 
cheek touched hers. Such a soft little cheek 
and so wet with tears ! The deepest tender- 
ness within him was stirred to its depths. Her 
268 


Clouds rifted with Silver 


curly head was just as high as his heart and 
lay against it at rest for a while. She was so 
utterly desolate that she could no more refuse 
the offer of love than a desert wanderer could 
resist a life-giving draught. But presently she 
drew away from his clinging arms with such 
gentleness that he let her go with a smile. 
There was no great need of haste now that he 
had only to bide his time. Then the falling 
of a few big drops of rain warned him that 
they should hasten to get under shelter. Noth- 
ing was to be gained by longer waiting and 
watching on the hilltop. 

The rain had already driven the neighbors 
indoors. Only the dim lights glimmering 
through rarely lighted windows told of the gen- 
eral uneasiness. Her house was deserted but 
the porch was dry sheltered by the thick vines. 
There the lovers sat down to watch and wait — 
just as before ascending the heights — yet there 
was a great difference to them both, as there 
always is to all of us. She felt no less anxious, 
but the bitter unrest of lonely trouble had 
given place to the sad peace that distress finds 
in love’s company. He felt perfectly happy 
forgetting that there was any cause to be other- 
269 


The Little Hills 


wise, till she reminded him of it when he spoke 
of marriage. Then indeed there was some- 
thing very near dislike of the old people in his 
heart, when she said that she could never 
marry him because her whole life was pledged 
to them. He protested — startled — saying 
that to care for them should henceforth be 
his privilege. There need be no question 
of means he urged. But she answered very 
gently and quite firmly that she could never 
shift her duty to other shoulders however able. 
The father and mother of the man whom she 
had married must not be dependent where they 
had no claim. This, she said sadly, was the 
very thing that he had been miserable over. 
To give them a claim had been her sole justi- 
fication — if she had any at all — and through 
it they were entitled to everything that she 
could do so long as they should need it. 


270 


XVIII 


POOR FATHER ROWAN ! POOR MOTHER ROWAN, 
TOO ! 

At midnight the rain ceased and the wind 
went down. In the warm, still darkness it 
seemed as if the sweet odors from the sleeping 
flowers were softly astir among the wet leaves. 
But it was not long after the turn of the night 
when a faint echo came from afar and rose 
rapidly into the sound of approaching wheels. 
Phoebe was the quicker to spring up, but the 
minister passed her on her way to the gate. 
It was too dark to see what was coming. But 
there was only a moment’s wait before they 
heard Mother Rowan’s voice, and something 
in its tone relieved their worse fears though 
they could not hear what she said. The car- 
riage came on very fast and soon drew up at the 
gate. As it stopped the squire called out : 

“Who’s that? If that’s a man there — 
come here. I need a man’s help. Here — 
round on the other side,” he directed. 


271 


The Little Hills 


Phoebe was already hanging over the wheels 
imploring to be told what had happened. 
Through the blackness she could barely make 
out a limp form leaning against Mother Rowan. 
“ Oh — is that Father Rowan ? ” she entreated. 
“ And is he much hurt ? ” 

“ Fetch a lantern and don’t stand there 
a-talking and making a fuss I ” cried Mother 
Rowan. “ How do you expect us to get out — 
when we can’t see our hands before our faces ? 
Some people never think of anything but mak- 
ing a commotion. Stop all this one and fetch 
a lantern ! ” 

Phoebe ran to do as she was told and ran 
back with the lantern lighted in great haste by 
her shaking fingers. But she found the squire 
and the minister already bearing their helpless 
burden through the gate and up the porch 
steps. She held the lantern higher to give 
better light, and saw Mother Rowan leading 
the way with her small head high in the air ; 
and heard her throw open the chamber door 
without any of the gentle care that the stern- 
est use in the presence of a real calamity. 
Then, when the brighter light of the lamp 
burning within the bedroom shone on the 


272 


Poor Mother Rowan, Too ! 


strange little face and Phcebe saw the look 
that it wore, her alarm turned into bewilder- 
ment. She shrank silently round behind the 
bed on which the two men laid the old man. In 
silence she did what she could to help. Then 
when there was nothing else to do she stood 
with tightly clasped hands, looking uneasily 
from one grave face to another, anxiously seek- 
ing the truth and slowly beginning to divine it. 

The minister hastily put out his hand to lead 
her from the room : “You are so pale and look 
so tired,” he said gently. “ Come out where it 
is cooler and sit down. There isn’t anything 
more to do. Nothing that any one could do.” 

“ Not a single thing,” the squire said also 
looking at her. “ It is best for all concerned 
that the old gentleman should be left in quiet 
to sleep off — his fatigue. It’s been a hard 
night for him and everybody. We are all 
worn out.” 

Then he turned suddenly and looked at 
Mother Rowan, kindly but uncertainly. “Yet 
if there is the least help that we can give you. 
Madam,” he faltered. “ If we can relieve you 
by staying — but perhaps you know better — ” 

“Well, I ought to,” said Mother Rowan 
T 273 


The Little Hills 


shortly and with snapping eyes. “ IVe done 
it often enough. But I must say that I never 
expected to have to go through with the whole 
thing again — at my age — and him as gray as 
a badger — and with a broken leg to boot. 
Yes, I will confess I thought he was tamed at 
last. It never entered my head that he could 
walk without help, and I don’t believe he 
would have tried to, if it hadn’t been for med- 
dlesome people, always so accommodating about 
what don’t concern ’em — and always so ready 
to lend top-heavy buggies and skittish horses. 
If other folks attended to their own concerns 
— as strictly as I’ve always attended to mine — 
there’d be a good deal less trouble in this world. 
But there’s no use crying over spilt milk. And 
I’ll lay he never gets another chance ! ” 

“ I’ll lay so too. Madam,” agreed the squire 
heartily, bowing and backing toward the door. 
“ I am quite sure of that.” 

The minister had already made his escape 
from the chamber. He stood in the passage 
that was dimly lighted by the lantern which 
hung on the back of a chair. When the squire 
now slid out of the bedroom backwards in such 
haste, they looked at one another and glanced 
274 


Poor Mother Rowan, Too ! 


at the chamber door. Then their eyes met 
again and they smiled, as the best of men will 
smile at any open showing of another man’s 
subjection by a woman. It made no difference 
that they, themselves, were at that very 
moment in routed retreat before the same femi- 
nine force which had subdued Father Rowan. 
For somehow or other no man ever does regard 
himself in quite the same humorous light in 
this delicate matter. 

But the minister’s smile faded quickly and 
he stood in troubled silence looking down at 
the passage floor. It distressed him that this 
last unbearable weight should have been added 
to the burden which Phoebe was struggling so 
hard to bear. The undertaking had been be- 
yond her power from the first and this must 
make it utterly overwhelming. Yet there was 
a grain of comfort in his troubled perplexity. 
Being in love he could not help hoping that 
the very fact of her helplessness might plead his 
cause. For love that can look first at anything 
else than its own aim is not love at all. Later 
perhaps — and in the nobler natures — love 
may look toward self-sacrifice but it never can 
on first impulse. To give up self the noblest 
275 


The Little Hills 


must have time to think and thinking takes 
longer than feeling. So that this lover’s heart 
suddenly leapt high with hope. She could no 
longer deny the need of help. No woman 
however strong could bear such a load as this 
alone. She must consent to let him lift it from 
her tender shoulders. In his burning eager- 
ness to urge his fresh claim he could hardly 
wait till she came from the chamber. His 
pulses were beating fast and his eyes glowing 
with new light. Unconsciously he glanced at 
the squire with a proud lift of his head and a 
radiant smile. The squire also smiled, though 
in rather a different manner since he was think- 
ing of something very different indeed. But 
both the men’s faces suddenly grew very grave, 
and they looked down feeling ashamed of their 
levity, when Phoebe appeared and they saw her 
transparent face. 

For it was only too plain that she knew the 
whole truth. She had divined it by degrees. 
This was the first time that she had ever come 
close to the sad sight; a sadder one than almost 
any of the many sad ones that wring good 
women’s hearts; and saddest of all when seen 
in age — which seems to add despair. The 
276 


Poor Mother Rowan, Too ! 


very whiteness of the head on the pillow had 
wrung her tender heart. It moved her so 
deeply that she forgot to be afraid. Then her 
eyes were so blinded by tears that she could 
not see just how grimly forbidding that gaunt 
figure was — standing on the other side of the 
bed — motionless as if carven out of stone. 
Blindly and bravely she felt her way round 
the bed, and went straight to the old woman 
and put up her soft arms and tried to draw 
down the unbending neck. When she could 
not do that, she stood on tiptoe and pressed 
her sweet lips to the wrinkled cheek in wistful 
tenderness that would not be denied. She felt 
the sudden quiver that went over the tall form 
while she clung to it. But there was not one 
word to give her courage to say something in 
comfort and love as she longed to do. She 
could only let her arms drop with a helpless 
sigh and turn away. And so she had gone 
out of the silent chamber, looking back with 
yearning sympathy. 

The minister did not find his words as ready 
as he had thought they would be. The squire 
also found himself suddenly embarrassed. It 
flashed across his mind that his wife would 
277 


The Little Hills 


have to know what had happened. She was 
ever watchful of his going and coming and 
never in the least backward in saying exactly 
what she thought of them. He flinched, re- 
membering the amusement of the loafers who 
hung around the groggery at the cross-roads 
where the truant had been found. They had 
laughed as long and loud as they dared — with 
Mother Rowan within hearing — when he and 
she had tracked the artful runaway to his hiding- 
place among the tall iron weeds near by. All 
this was certainly most undignified — even 
ridiculous — for a man of his years and position 
to have been engaged in. Of course it would 
come to his wife’s ears and she might make 
reference to a wild-goose chase — or even a 
fool’s errand — on a stormy night. For one 
moment of panic he thought of going back to 
his office, daylight being now not far off, instead 
of driving on home. From the passage door he 
could see a light in one of the windows of his 
house and knew that his wife was up, still wait- 
ing and more than ready. Seriously he con- 
sidered flight. No one is ever so much afraid 
of being laughed at as he who is always laugh- 
ing at others. Then all of a sudden he remem- 
278 


Poor Mother Rowan, Too ! 

bered how rarely his wife laughed or saw any- 
thing to laugh at. It was a great relief. Per- 
haps many a man has found security in his 
wife’s slowness to see the ridiculous, and cer- 
tainly not one ever loved her the less on that 
account. The squire now straightened up and 
laughed himself, a little sheepishly. Then he 
said that it was time to be getting home, the 
east was already gray with the dawn. And so 
he drove off with a cheerful good-night — 
whistling — to let the neighbors who heard him 
pass know that there was nothing wrong. 

The minister lingered a few minutes longer. 
He could not bear to leave her standing there 
looking so tired and white, so utterly spent in 
flesh and spirit. Yet at the same time he knew 
that he must for the time forego urging his 
claims — his new right to help her. It was 
rest that she needed far more than any aid or 
comfort that he could give her. And he finally 
brought himself to go in silence and with 
merely a clasp of her hand. But at the par- 
sonage gate he paused and called back wishing 
her sweet sleep and sweeter dreams. Then he 
stood still under the dripping trees to watch 
and wait till the lantern-light went slowly along 
279 


The Little Hills 


the front porch like a weary firefly. He saw 
it vanish through the shed-room door, and then 
the brighter light of a solitary candle shone 
through the climbing roses that wreathed the 
little white window. 


XIX 

THE RAIN ON THE ROOF 

Placing the candlestick on the chair she 
looked around with a long sigh. There was 
balm in the cool peace of the poor place. It 
was sweet too with the scent of the wet roses 
clustering around the open window. She took 
a deep breath of the fragrance as she sat down 
on the side of the little white bed, and leaning 
over it put out her hand toward the nearest 
rose. The touch was as soft as the sighing of 
the breeze, but it sent a startled flutter through 
all the dripping leaves. She drew back quickly 
and her sad face brightened with a smile. It 
was pleasant to know that the birds were there 
so close by, sleeping within reach of her arms. 
She felt less lonely at once, almost as if she had 
real company. Then fearing that the feathered 
sleepers might be disturbed by the light, she set 
the candle on the floor and shaded it till only 

281 


The Little Hills 

a silvery glimmer lingered on the low white 
walls. 

And now — still sitting on the bedside afraid 
to move lest she startle the birds — she began 
to undress very slowly and softly. But she had 
hardly taken off her black bodice and let down 
her brown hair before she forgot what she was 
doing, and allowed her hands to fall on her lap. 
And so she sat for a while dreaming rather than 
thinking. But with rest her mind cleared and 
she wondered why she was not miserable. She 
knew that she ought to be, that the revelation 
of the old man’s weakness was more than 
enough to make her so. She fully realized 
what it meant and her heart was filled with 
pity for him and for his wife. The future 
looked dark indeed, her own no less than 
theirs. But she could not keep her thoughts 
on these sad facts though she tried to do so. 
For certainly the situation needed thinking 
about in order to decide upon some plan. She 
was utterly at a loss how to begin the next 
day, and there would be many other days, each 
harder than the other to meet and deal with. 
This she said to herself very sternly, yet even as 
she spoke her thoughts quickly turned to her 

282 


The Rain on the Roof 


own happiness, to the wonderful words that she 
had heard on the hilltop. Every word that 
her lover had spoken came back again and 
again, sweet and clear as the soft chiming 
of golden bells. The witching music lulled 
her sternest self-reproaches. She could only 
listen and wonder how she could be so happy. 
There was no mystery. It was merely love 
claiming his own first right. But she did not 
know much about love’s selfish ways which she 
was only learning. She had not yet learned 
that when a truly loving woman loves with her 
whole heart and is loved to her complete con- 
tent, she can never be made really unhappy by 
anything in this world outside her love. 

And so she felt guilty because she could not 
help being happy — poor little thing — sitting 
there alone in the scented gloom, so lonely that 
she was wistful for the company of the birds. It 
was a pity that only their sleepy eyes could see 
her. For she was lovely to look at, with her 
long hair rippling down over her bare shoulders 
and round arms. There was a new radiance 
too in her soft eyes and her sweet face. For 
she was gazing into the framed darkness 
wreathed by the wet roses and saw only her 
283 


The Little Hills 


new happiness. It seemed to her like some 
exquisite winged thing that would fly away, if 
she did not clasp it quickly and hold it close. 
And that was what she did instantly, crossing 
her arms over her breast and pressing them 
very, very close. Then smiling at the fancy that 
— held thus — love could not use his wings, 
she nestled down among the pillows. Her 
shining eyes were wide open and seeing radi- 
ant visions through the white dimness. 

“Oh — no — no, indeed,” she said to herself 
speaking aloud as the lonely often do under 
stress of feeling : “ I mustn’t go to sleep — 
though I am so tired. If I were to fall asleep 
even for a moment — I never could tell whether 
this is really true — or only a beautiful dream.” 

For a while she lay quite still and as per- 
fectly happy as few of us are ever permitted to 
be even for so short a space. Then she stirred 
uneasily. It seemed to her that the exquisite 
winged thing fluttered a little — as if trying to 
get away — and she did not smile at this fancy. 
Instead she pressed her soft arms closer to her 
breast, still closer to her heart which began to 
ache again. Before very long she would have 
to let love go, even though he might not wish 
284 


The Rain on the Roof 


to get away. She had already told her lover so. 
His eager offer to lift the burden that kept 
them apart came back to her now, bringing 
a sudden glow like a draught of spiced wine. 
But in another moment she grew cold as she 
always did in thinking of her husband. Then 
all the old bewildered pain — for what she 
hardly understood and could not help — was 
tugging at her heart once more. 

She turned wearily on the pillow longing for 
sleep, yet still looking into the darkness framed 
by the wet roses. At first she could see noth- 
ing now but a dark, steep path struggling up a 
stony hillside. But after a time it seemed to 
her that a light glimmered — far off and high 
up — and gradually shone brighter and nearer 
till it streamed all the way down that long 
road clear to her weary feet. The fancy was 
wonderfully heartening. She was smiling and 
almost at peace. 

Without a moment’s warning another alarm 
smote her like a blow. She sat up in bed 
gasping for breath and pressing her hands to 
her heart as if it were trying to escape. The 
squire’s loss through Father Rowan’s fault! 
That should be made good at once. The fact 
285 


The Little Hills 


that the squire himself never would speak of 
it could make no difference. The neighbors 
would all know anyway. They knew every- 
thing about one another, and Phoebe knew only 
too well what they would think of the least 
remissness in this matter — and also what 
they would say. For while they could, and 
perhaps would, overlook the old gentleman’s 
misstep, they neither would nor could tolerate 
even delay in making good such a loss as this. 
In that country of easy borrowing and free 
lending this was a debt of honor. 

“And they were all just beginning to like 
him and respect Mother Rowan,” said Phoebe 
to herself and almost with a groan. “ Now the 
old people will be looked down upon. And 
this is what I’ve done by bringing them here. 
This is what I’ve done to make up.” 

Then in frightened haste she began to check 
off the quivering little fingers of one hand with 
the unsteady forefinger of the other, reckoning 
her resources. Over and over she counted 
every penny that she had in the world and not 
another one could she make out. All must be 
used to give the old people even scanty com- 
fort. Nothing could be taken away without 
286 


The Rain on the Roof 

depriving them and they had little enough 
at most. And yet this debt must be paid, 
or Father Rowan would be disgraced. Those 
of us who have known such people and how 
rigidly they exact what they think is right, can 
know how real was the cause of her alarm. 
And we who have anywhere felt the need of a 
few miserable dollars — to help those who are 
helpless save for what we can do, will know 
what she was suffering now. For it is then 
that the white-hot iron of poverty enters the very 
soul — and so it was searing hers at this moment. 

For the first time in her life she wholly lost 
heart and courage. Giving way utterly she 
fell back on the pillows, shivering, gasping and 
sobbing. A great drowning flood of misery 
swept over her. It seemed to her anguished, 
fevered, tossed mind as if those weak but cling- 
ing old hands were dragging her down. She 
felt that she must cast them off and free her- 
self or die. For a moment it was her life 
against theirs. She could not hold them up. 
It was no use to try. They would only drag 
her under. The burden had been beyond her 
strength from the first. She had known that 
all along. And now she must let it go. To 
287 


The Little Hills 


hold on would be madness. She had but to 
cast off those weak old hands and grasp the 
strong young ones that were already out- 
stretched to save her. And she had a right to 
save herself. Every woman has a right to live 
her own life. Every soul has the right to be 
happy — if it can. She could, and love had 
been slow in coming to her. But it had 
come at last and she could not let it go. No 
— no — no ! And so it raged, this fierce revolt 
of a soft nature driven too hard ; this terrific 
strife between a strained conscience and a 
starved heart. 

When her strength was spent she lay quiet, 
sobbing now only at long intervals. But her 
heavy gaze still wandered about the dim room 
as if seeking some unseen help, till a faint 
sound caused her to look toward the dark 
window. She did not know what the sound 
was at first and lifted her head to listen. It 
was the rain falling again; the gentle sum- 
mer rain that comes without storm. Those 
were the first raindrops running over the roof 
like fairy footsteps. They made her think of 
a beautiful rain-spirit with light little feet, 
swiftly coming and going. For they fled quite 
288 


The Rain on the Roof 


out of hearing on this first flight across the low 
roof. But she knew that they would return 
before long, and listening more intently, almost 
ceased sobbing. Yes, there they came — step- 
ping more slowly — tripping rather than run- 
ning and they did not go quite out of hearing 
this time. At the edge of the mossy eaves they 
paused and lingered. Then they turned and 
came pattering back only to turn again and go 
on regularly pattering — pattering — pattering 
to and fro. The throbbing little head sank 
back on the pillow now, already somewhat 
soothed. It seemed too as if the pain in her 
heart were not so sharp, as if the unrest of her 
soul were not so great. For there is magical 
healing in the sound of the rain on the roof 
in the night. It weaves its subtlest charm 
over the humble dwellers under lowly roof-trees 
such as this one was. But it brings a measure 
of peace everywhere and to all. No bodily dis- 
tress is ever quite so great under that peaceful 
murmur: no spiritual unrest can wholly resist 
its relief. The struggle of life seems less hard 
and its disappointments less bitter — wrongs 
sting less sharply and good deeds shine anew 
and afar through the deepest darkness. That 
u 289 


The Little Hills 


soft wonder-working sound of the rain on the 
roof in the night! Phoebe’s sensitive spirit 
responded like a harp. She was no longer 
sobbing, there was even a shadow of a smile 
on her sad little face. Tears still hung on her 
long lashes but they merely weighed them 
down the sooner. She was almost dozing 
already — poor little Phoebe! Hers was the 
gentlest and sweetest spirit, and the hardest 
and bitterest could not be quite so rebellious 
wrought upon by the charm of the rain. It 
had gradually fallen into a musical rhythm and 
she listened to it as a grieved and drowsy child 
listens to a lullaby. For the beautiful rain- 
spirit really was singing one, the softest, tender- 
est and most soothing too that earth’s grieving 
and weary children were ever permitted to 
hear. Phoebe had quite forgotten about the 
light little feet pattering so close to her head. 
She could not hear them now. She heard only 
the still softer waving of its much lighter and 
larger wings, and felt that they were bearing 
her away from all earthly unrest, far beyond 
and above the sad mystery of living. 


290 


XX 


PAYING THE PIPER 

Yet when the earliest twittering of the 
birds brought her back to the freshened earth, 
the first thing that she remembered was the 
debt. But the peace wrought by the rain still 
rested on her quiet spirit. She was not uneasy 
now, feeling sure that the way would open 
somehow. Then as she looked out over the 
blooming meadows where the larks were sing- 
ing, she thought of her locket. That must be 
worth a great deal, perhaps more than the 
amount of the squire’s loss. As soon as break- 
fast was over she would get out this treasure, 
the only piece of jew’elry she had, and see at 
once what could be done. 

But Mother Rowan did not wait till the 
early meal was over to broach the subject 
which had kept her awake also. She did not 
know this community with its rigid exactions, 
but she was born and bred to another very 
much like it. Then she, herself, was the im- 


291 


The Little Hills 


personation of fierce independence. So that 
she spoke at once with her usual bluntness. 

“Yes, indeed,” assented Phoebe cheerfully. 
“ Of course we must pay. But we mustn’t let 
Father Rowan know.” 

“ Why not ? ” demanded Mother Rowan. 
“Shield him? After he’s cut such a scan- 
dalous caper — at his age — expecting me to 
put up with it at mine! I’ll do nothing of 
the kind. I’ll give him a piece of my mind 
— just as soon as he wakes — and nobody can 
keep me from doing it.” 

“ As you think best,” said Phoebe gently. 
“ If we could only keep the neighbors from 
knowing 1 ” 

“ I’ve got nothing to hide from anybody,” 
declared Mother Rowan fiercely. “ There’s 
never been one underhand thing in my whole 
life. I’m always perfectly open and above 
board — even down to what I think. And 
that’s the reason I tell you now that you’re 
some to blame in this. It never would have 
happened if you hadn’t brought us here amongst 
accommodating squires and nearby groggeries. 
I could have kept him straight if we had stayed 
where I knew what there was to keep watch on.” 


292 


Paying the Piper 

“Yes, I am to blame. I can see it too,” 
murmured Phoebe hanging her head. 

“ Well, there’s no use in crying over spilt 
milk. But I’m not a-going to be looked down 
on by strangers or let him be either, if I can 
help it. I’ve lived an upright life and made 
him live one too, as far as I could. Then 
there’s poor William to be thought of in this 
disgrace — brought on by his father — here 
where he was a minister of the gospel.” 

Phoebe turned quickly and looked through 
the open window. 

“ There are no two ways about the matter,” 
Mother Rowan went on relentlessly. “ I’ve 
been thinking most of the night how to keep 
him — and all of us — from being looked down 
on. It seems to me that the best plan would 
be to sell or mortgage the piece of land that 
he sunk my school money in, without leave or 
license,” she said jerking her head toward the 
invisible culprit. “ It couldn’t be mortgaged or 
sold for much, but maybe something might be 
raised on it — ” 

“ No ! no I ” protested Phoebe, alarmed as the 
country-bred always are at the mere mention 
of any incumbrance on land by which they and 


293 


The Little Hills 


their forbears have lived. “You mustn’t think 
of such a thing. I couldn’t let you. It’s my 
place to do whatever is done.” 

“ Your place, is it ? ” cried Mother Rowan, 
her quick jealousy instantly taking fire. “ And 
you sit there — a chit of a thing like you — 
and tell me to my face that you’ve got more 
right to do for William than I have? You — 
a perfect stranger — say that to me ; after my 
taking him as a puny baby and bringing him 
up to be a minister in the highest standing ; 
after my doing for him what his own mother 
never could have done — poor sickly, slack- 
twisted thing — for she didn’t have the spunk 
to say boo to a goose. That’s why hes so 
hard to manage and always will be,” she 
said with a more fiery snapping of her black 
eyes and a grimmer tightening of her straight 
lips. “ And now after all that — with poor 
William dead and gone — to be told that an 
outsider has a better right than I have earned.” 

Phoebe sprang up and ran round the table. 
A sudden recollection of the night before, when 
she had felt for a moment a little nearer to 
this unapproachable woman, gave her courage. 
Then there was something in the strange small 

294 


Paying the Piper 


face that moved her beyond fear. She would 
have put her soft arms around that stiff neck 
again, had she dared. 

“No one ever could have a better right than 
yours,” she entreated. “ I never dreamt of 
claiming one half so great. All that I claim 
is the right to do — for his sake — what you 
want me to. Only tell me what it is — and I 
will do it as nearly as I can now and always.” 

“ Then ask that squire to let me know the 
exact amount of the debt, and whether he 
would move back his fence — the one up yon- 
der on the hilltop next the graveyard. When 
I know what it will cost to mend the buggy and 
whether he will sell a strip off his field, I can 
tell where I stand.” 

Shrinking silently, Phoebe went back to her 
seat on the other side of the table, and sat still 
for some time without lifting her clouded eyes. 
She did not understand more than the mere 
drift of what Mother Rowan was saying, but 
the remotest reference to her husband always 
caused her to become silent. 

“ Thinking it out last night, I thought maybe 
he might be willing to sell a strip wide enough 
to set up the tombstone on, if I can pay for it. 


The Little Hills 


Of course I am not asking any favors. I’m 
never going to be beholding to anybody for 
anything. But when I thought of trying to 
sell or mortgage that land of mine, it crossed 
my mind that maybe I could raise money 
enough to buy a place for the tombstone as 
well as to pay this debt. The first thing though, 
is to find out exactly how much is owing the 
squire and whether he will sell the strip off his 
field. Then I can see about the mortgage. If 
I can’t get enough money on it for both — of 
course the debt must be paid. If William has 
got to wait for his tombstone, I reckon he’d 
just as soon the money went to clear his father’s 
name as anything else.” 

The curly head hung very low now and big 
tears were running down the flushed cheeks. 
The peace wrought by the rain on the roof in 
the night was quite gone by this time. Phoebe 
was wholly unstrung again. Her quivering 
little hands had taken fast hold on the edge 
of the table, grasping it hard to keep herself 
from springing up and running out of the 
room. 

Had Mother Rowan looked that way perhaps 
she would not have been quite so harsh. But 

296 


Paying the Piper 


she was looking through the window toward 
the green hilltop, where the silver beech 
bent its supple branches down to the long 
grass through which the breeze sighed over 
three graves. Presently she continued without 
glancing round : 

“ Ask that squire this very morning. And 
ask him whether — if I can’t raise enough 
money on my land — he would sell me that 
strip off his field on time. I could earn the 
money to pay for it before a great while — just 
with my knitting-needles. There must be 
plenty of people about here needing socks and 
stockings. That new minister’s loon of an 
aunt can’t knit his — a-traipsing all over the 
country to chase bugs and gather weeds to sow 
the neighborhood. Then ten to one if that 
lazy aunt of yours has a whole stocking to her 
foot half the time, and that daughter of hers 
would never get one done, mooning as she 
does. No, there couldn’t be much doubt about 
my earning enough to pay for that strip of land, 
if that squire will give me reasonable time — 
asking no favors and beholding to nobody. 
But it must be seen to — right off the reel,” 
she said turning to look at her silent listener. 

297 


The Little Hills 


Phoebe was on her way out of the room. 
She could not bear any more and was barely 
able to murmur an excuse, and so escape 
with some show of composure. But she did 
not stop till she had gone clear over to the 
farthest side of the garden. Here the only 
strife was the scolding of the birds in the 
blossoming clover-field just beyond the white- 
washed fence. It was not long before she 
felt calm enough to venture back to the 
house and managed to slip unseen into the 
shed-room. While walking between the bor- 
ders of spice pinks she had tried to think what 
else she had that might be sold and could recol- 
lect nothing but the locket. She had forgotten 
just how many pearls were set about its worn 
rim of gold. But she knew that there were a 
great many because the row went all the way 
round, and she did not doubt that they were 
worth a good deal. When she had gone into 
mourning the locket had been put away in the 
little trunk under the foot of her narrow white 
bed, where her rosebud muslin and all the rest 
of her treasures were. She sat down on the 
floor and drew out the trunk, and unlocked it 
with the key worn on a ribbon around her 
298 


Paying the Piper 

neck. Lifting the lid she laid aside many 
small parcels — poor little keepsakes — that had 
come down to her from her mother and grand- 
mother, wrapped in yellowed paper and tied 
with faded ribbons by fingers long since turned 
to dust. As she took up the small box contain- 
ing the locket she tried to remember which 
grandmother it had belonged to in the first 
place. But that was too far back and she did 
not think much about it anyway. She was 
most anxious to count the pearls which were 
small and yellow yet rich and rare in her eyes. 
Counting she grew confident. Hillery Kibbey 
would sell it for her and do his best to get as 
much as he could. And he would not tell 
either. He never had been known to betray 
a real secret, such as this must be on Father 
Rowan’s account, and to spare Mother Rowan’s 
sensitive pride. The only time that he was 
ever known to speak of a commission at all, 
was when some one of the ladies hinted that 
he might, just to make the other ladies pleas- 
antly envious. There never was any question 
of his being trusted, the trouble was to get a 
word with him without being seen or overheard. 
There were so many wanting always to confer 
299 


The Little Hills 


with him privately and confidentially, A sud- 
den dread lest he might leave that day before 
she could give him the locket caused her to 
spring up and run along the porch. In the 
corner nearest the post-office the vines were 
very heavy and she impetuously pushed them 
back, hastily leaning forward. The flowering 
foliage fell about her with a sparkling shower 
of raindrops and again the sunshine burnished 
her brown hair. 

Thus she was seen for the first time that 
morning by the new minister who now came 
toward her across the big road. His smiling 
eyes told her — without the least reserve — how 
lovely she was. He no longer hesitated to 
let her know what he thought and felt. The 
night’s sweet assurance had made him daring. 
The cobwebs of convention with which she 
had bound him and herself were cast off now 
forever. This new freedom was in the way 
he walked, in the proud lift of his head and — 
most of all — in the look that he gave her when 
he took her hand : the look that a man gives a 
woman when he first claims her as his own. 

It brought something very like a flash to 
Phoebe’s soft eyes. For even she — the lov- 
300 


Paying the Piper 

ing and guileless — instinctively resented and 
resisted for a moment as the gentlest woman 
always does, no matter how much she may love. 
The mystery of that eternal antagonism spring- 
ing from the very root of life ! Love itself has 
never been able to unroot it through all the 
ages. 

He understood it even less than she did — 
as the man alw^ays does. He merely saw that 
the little figure in black suddenly stood very 
straight, that the soft eyes grew so bright that 
they almost flashed, that the flush on the 
smooth cheeks deepened exquisitely, that the 
delicate neck arched bewitchingly and that 
the rounded chin was uplifted in the most 
enchanting way in the world. He was not 
in the least alarmed by these mutinous signs, 
feeling armed at every point. All through 
the hours just gone he had been thinking 
intently, and the most unanswerable argu- 
ments were ranged now in his mind quite 
ready to lay before her. He smiled to think 
that she did not know how to argue at all. 
For he had not yet learned how little argu- 
ment has to do with the conviction of a woman 
like Phoebe. 


301 


The Little Hills 


“ The old gentleman is better, I hope,” he 
began, looking round to make sure that they 
were alone. “ A good long nap seemed to be 
all that he needed to restore him. You see 
how heartlessly I speak. But indeed I’ve done 
my best to be sorry for his mishap — which 
gave me my opportunity — and I can’t. It 
really wouldn’t be natural for me to be sorry. 
No actual harm has come to him. And just 
see the good that’s come to me! Without the 
old gentleman’s misstep I must have gone on 
waiting for no earthly reason except certain 
overly strict notions of propriety lodged some- 
how in that curly head. As if we ever could 
be happy too soon — you foolish child I Well, 
you can’t be miserable much longer — or keep 
me so — no matter how hard you try, ” his 
smiling eyes bantered her and he took her 
hands and held them against his breast. 
“You’ve got to marry me and very soon too. 
You can’t help yourself. You must marry 
me — you see — it’s your duty just for the 
old folks’ sake.” 

The vines made a perfect screen and he 
drew her still closer: “What’s this?” he said 
taking the locket from her hand. “An orna- 


302 


Paying the Piper 


ment! That’s right,” he went on with rising 
spirits. “So you are going to have gay 
feathers after this — you sober little wren. 
Of course you are ! And let’s put away that 
dreadful veil first of all. Yes, we will'' he 
cried gayly as she tried to withdraw her hands. 
“ Before very long I mean to see how you look 
in pink just the tint of your freshest spice 
pinks, a tint almost as exquisite as that color 
in your cheeks this moment. I can hardly 
wait to see that little brown face looking out 
of a cloud of rosy muslin — all ruffles and 
lace. It makes my head go round to think 
of it,” and so he ran on as happy lovers do. 

But she drew away and a shadow falling 
over her face warned him to take a graver 
tone. 

“ Last night’s revelation proves it impossible 
for you to bear such a burden alone,” he said 
quickly, drawing her down to a chair and seat- 
ing himself beside her. “ It is utterly out of 
the question for you to think for a moment of 
going on without my help. If the thing that 
happened last night should happen again — 
and men rarely alter their habits when they 
are old — what would you do.^ What could 
303 


The Little Hills 


you do ? ” Then he added artfully, “ Even if 
it never should happen again you might do 
many things for the old people with my assist- 
ance that you can hardly do without it. For 
I do not live by my profession — only for it. 
There need never be any question of means 
for the comfort of the old people. So that 
you cannot stand on that point.” 

She smiled back at him a little sadly 
as she shook her head : “No comfort — no 
luxury — ever could reconcile Mother Rowan 
to dependence. It would break her heart. I 
have never known such fierce pride. Then — 
don’t you see — ” she said very gravely and 
bracing herself with a visible effort before 
going on, “that it was for this very reason 
that I was induced to — that this was my only 
justification — the only one I ever can have.” 

“You poor little thing!” he said. “What 
can I say to you to keep you from tormenting 
your blameless self? You poor little thing! 
I wonder how I am ever going to show you 
that you risk your own happiness as well as 
mine in trying to cling to a mere shadow of 
conscience.” 

He kept silence for a moment wondering 
304 


Paying the Piper 


what would be best to say next. For he was 
beginning to feel the strength of resistance 
lying beneath her softness, like stone under 
moss. Yet so far he was merely bewildered 
and not in the least disheartened. It seemed 
to him mainly a matter of waiting and that was 
hard enough, harder than ever after feeling so 
secure. And he was all the more at a loss 
too. This was the first time that he had come 
in contact with firmness like hers which always 
seemed to yield without ever really giving way. 
In his perplexity it was rather a relief when the 
sound of wheels caused her to run to the other 
end of the porch. She told him over her 
shoulder that the stage was coming. A few 
moments later it drew up before the gate and 
Hillery Kibbey held out a long, large envelope 
which looked as if it might contain some busi- 
ness document. 

“ What in the world can it be ? ” wondered 
Phoebe almost afraid to take it. She had 
never in her life had any letters except those 
which the old people had written and the one 
from Mother Rowan’s daughter. And so she 
hung back a little, quite forgetting the locket. 

But Hillery Kibbey bent down from the 
X 305 


The Little Hills 


driver’s seat and put the letter in her hand, 
saying that he had brought it to her himself, 
because he knew there was no telling when she 
would get it if he did not bring it. For no- 
body but Arabella went regularly to the post- 
office every time the stage came in. And — as 
Hillery said — she was always too intent on her 
own letter from the captain to notice whether 
anybody else got one or not. 


XXI 


THE RELEASE OF PHCEBE 

This letter was addressed to Father Rowan 
and that made Phoebe wonder still more. She 
would not have been quite so much surprised 
had it been intended for Mother Rowan. Then 
it bore the postmark of the remote place which 
they had come from and this also made her 
uneasy. We always expect more trouble when 
already troubled. 

With vague dread she ran up the steps and 
along the passage to deliver the letter. At 
the closed door of the bedroom she paused and 
hesitated. She had not seen Father Rowan 
since that sad sight of him on the night before. 
Perhaps he was still asleep. Then it had seemed 
kinder to leave him alone until he should be 
once more himself. Yet she was afraid to delay 
giving him such a long, large letter as this 
and now knocked timidly. The door opened 
instantly, but only wide enough for Mother 
Rowan’s bony, strong hand to take the letter, 
then Phoebe was shut out again. 

307 


The Little Hills 


She could not help feeling disappointed, but 
said nothing and went back to her seat on 
the porch. And indeed there was hardly 
time to speak before the squire came in sight. 
To see him out of the usual hour was so 
startling as to make her forget everything else. 
She stood up fearing she knew not what, and 
her alarm grew as she saw him driving straight 
toward her gate. She also noticed that he was 
in his old buggy. It was the new one that had 
been wrecked. For a moment a thrill of fear 
made her feel faint. Then she felt ashamed of 
having thought that he could be coming about 
that. And as he came nearer and drew up she 
saw that his kind face was fairly beaming. It 
was easy now to see that he brought pleasant 
and rather exciting news. Indeed the whole 
air seemed all of a sudden full of agreeable 
excitement, though she did not catch even the 
drift of what he said at first. For a while her 
curly head seemed to whirl, but after a little 
she began to understand. He too had just re- 
ceived a letter, one written by Mother Rowan’s 
daughter. It directed him to act as her own 
legal adviser and requested that he would see 
her mother at once, before any action could 
308 


The Release of Phoebe 


be taken in a most important matter which 
would be offered for urgent consideration by 
that same mail. Phoebe was nearly lost again 
in bewilderment as the squire’s words length- 
ened into legal phrases. But she made out 
that somebody wanted to buy the land on 
Rennox Creek. Then she gathered that a 
company had been formed for the purpose of 
buying the whole tract. It gradually appeared 
that the oil flowing from it into the creek was 
very valuable for medicinal uses. 

“ These men seem to have tested it,” the 
squire laughed as he spoke. “ They appear to 
have helped themselves to as much of it as they 
wanted for making a thorough test. The oil 
has already been sold widely in the eastern 
cities and even in London, for external use 
in rheumatism and several other complaints. 
The demand for it has now grown until they 
want to buy the land in order to get the oil in 
large quantities.” 

“ So they say here,” said Mother Rowan 
from the doorway where she stood holding 
the open letter in her hand. 

“ Then you have received their offer, 
Madam,” the squire bowed with an uneasy 

309 


The Little Hills 

recollection of the parting on the night 
before. 

“ He has,” said Mother Rowan with a back- 
ward jerk of her small head. “ But he’s got 
nothing to do with it. It’s my land — not 
his.” 

“Your daughter has written me to that 
effect,” said the squire taking out his letter 
and opening it. “ She has also written me to 
see you as soon as possible so that you might 
not be led into any hasty agreement. She 
says that the land has turned out to be valu- 
able. As for what its value actually is — ” 

“ Will they give enough for it to buy a strip 
off that field of yours — the one up yonder 
on the hilltop next the graveyard } ” asked 
Mother Rowan with a sudden fierce eager- 
ness. 

There was a momentary silence of blank 
amazement. Only Phoebe understood and she 
could not speak, much less explain. But the 
new minister saw her quick shrinking and 
the unconscious turning of her clouded eyes, 
toward the distant hilltop where gleams of 
white marble shone through the living green. 
He could not express the tenderness that he 


310 


The Release of Phcebe 


felt, but he drew nearer her side, hoping and 
believing that she knew what he felt. 

“ My field is not for sale. Madam,” said the 
squire puzzled yet smiling in spite of himself 
at the oddity of her manner. “ But if I under- 
stand this matter rightly you will be able — 
should you like — to buy a good many fields 
larger and finer than mine.” 

“ I’ve got no use for any fields,” declared 
Mother Rowan more eagerly and more fiercely 
if possible than before. “ The only thing 
that I want is a strip off that one field of 
yours. Can’t you give a plain answer yes — 
or no ? ” 

“ Of course — presently — ” protested the 
squire. “ But that is a small and irrelevant 
matter. Your daughter urges my trying to 
induce you to consider immediately — before 
the stage goes — ” 

“ She shan’t come between me and my duty 
to poor William ! ” that curious look of exalta- 
tion was in the strange small face now. “ I 
never allowed her to do it while he was alive, 
and I’m not going to allow her to do it now 
when he’s dead, and this is the very last 
thing that I ever can do for him — to prove to 
3 “ 


The Little Hills 


everybody how different I am and always was 
— from the whole tribe of stepmothers.” 

“ Oh — I see,” the squire began as a dim 
light broke. 

“ No, she shan’t ! ” cried Mother Rowan with 
growing violence : “ And you’d just as well 
save your breath too. For neither you nor 
anybody living can make me move one peg, till 
I know whether I can get room enough to set 
up poor William’s tombstone — if I can sell my 
land for enough money to pay for a place to 
put it — and be beholding to nobody. There 
now! You’ve got the word with the bark on 
it. Do what I want, then maybe I’ll listen 
to what you’ve got to say.” 

There was the sudden sound of a door thrown 
open with a crash and a deep growl rumbled 
down the passage. 

“ And what’s it to you ? ” demanded Mother 
Rowan whirling round and throwing the words 
like stones. “ What have you ever done for 
him to give you a right to interfere between 
William and me } ” 

The violent slamming of a door partly 
drowned the rest that she said. 

“Certainly, certainly,” conceded the squire 
312 


The Release of Phoebe 


hastily. “ It will give me great pleasure to 
have the fence moved at once. However 
that’s a small matter — ” 

“ Not to me ! ” cried Mother Rowan grimly, 
yet slightly appeased. 

It did not take long after this to settle the 
business. She readily agreed to start with her 
husband for Rennox Creek early on the next 
morning. Her daughter was already there and 
waiting with the greatest impatience for them 
to come. Phoebe shyly begged that Father 
Rowan might stay with her until he felt more 
able to travel or Mother Rowan came back. 
But the squire said that the daughter insisted 
upon his coming, in order that there should 
be no delay or difficulty in signing the deed. 
Then she had also made arrangements for take- 
ing her mother and stepfather to her own home 
when the sale had been made. It was not right 
— so she had written — that they should be so 
far from her and living among strangers. 

On the whole it was a memorable day, the 
most memorable that this far-off corner of the 
green earth ever knew. The events making 
it so were too marvellous for belief had not 
313 


The Little Hills 


the squire given his word that they were 
actually taking place. After that there could 
be no more doubt that these two old people, 
who had been without a penny on the rising 
of the sun would be rich — as this country 
held riches — before the lingering sun went 
down. As it sank out of sight at last behind 
the misty hills, the neighbors came from their 
houses to roam excitedly up and down the big 
road, marvelling in half-hushed tones. Now 
and then they paused, but only for a moment 
to lean over a gate being too much wrought 
up to stand still. Even old Mrs. Crabtree 
who rarely left her seat by the window came 
as far as her own gate and stood there hail- 
ing everybody that went by. She told over 
and over again the wonderful story that she 
had heard from Mother Rowan, about the 
burning oil which flowed on with the river for 
such an incredible distance, and the awed lis- 
teners never once breathed a doubt. 

Some of the more thoughtful neighbors went 
up to Phoebe’s house and offered to help in. 
getting the travellers ready. But Mother 
Rowan made short work of all interference, 
and Phoebe gently declined, saying that they 
314 


The Release of Phoebe 


did not need any assistance. Nevertheless it 
was with the greatest difficulty that the hair- 
covered trunk was finally packed. There was 
the most unaccountable mystery in the way 
Father Rowan’s things disappeared as he hob- 
bled about the room, pretending to help in the 
packing. It really seemed as if he were doing 
his best to hinder rather than to help. Indeed 
Mother Rowan finally taxed him with hiding 
his clothes. Thereupon he made no denial 
whatever, but hobbled back to his armchair 
and sat down with a growl of defiance. 

Mother Rowan kneeling by the trunk looked 
up sharply, snapping her eyes at Phoebe : 
“ Anybody that didn’t know his ways as well 
as I do, would think he might be a bit more 
lively about going to see my daughter — con- 
sidering how I’ve done by his son,” she said. 

Phoebe’s little hand fell on the broad old 
shoulder and stilled another rumbling de- 
fiance. She bent down and looked wistfully 
into his overcast face. “It comforts me to 
know that you are not glad to go,” she whis- 
pered so that Mother Rowan could not hear. 
Yet in another moment moved by her invin- 
cible yearning for affection, she sank down on 

315 


The Little Hills 


her knees beside Mother Rowan thus bringing 
her sweet face very close to the bitter one : 
“ And you too, dear Mother Rowan — I beg 
you to believe that I have tried hard to make 
you happy ” 

The small head which was bent over the 
trunk came up with startling quickness : 
“ Well, I dare anybody to hint before me that 
you haven t ! ” Mother Rowan said. 

And that was Phoebe’s sole reward. After 
one more appealing look she stood up and went 
quietly on with the many things yet to do. 
The candles burned late in her old house that 
night. Indeed they glimmered later than ever 
known before through the low boughs that 
overhung the mossy roof-trees all along the 
big road. And the beams from the new min- 
ister’s lamp lay across it in broad bands of 
light — binding his study to the shed-room — 
throughout the short, still, sweet summer night. 

The sun was barely peeping over the green 
hills when the neighbors were up and busily 
astir. Everybody wanted to do something for 
the travellers, because it was always a pleasure 
to do anything for Phoebe and also because the 

316 


The Release of Phoebe 


occasion was so interesting that nobody wished 
to be left out. Even Arabella fluttered in, 
bringing an absurd pin-cushion with many 
frivolous ends of pink ribbon and the pins set 
in the shape of a heart, thinking it might be 
useful in Mother Rowan’s travelling basket. 
Phoebe thanked her most warmly yet could not 
help feeling relieved that Mother Rowan’s back 
was turned, and that the present could be put 
hastily out of sight. The new minister came 
next looking as serious as he could — being 
so happy — and brought a most kind message 
from his aunt offering Mother Rowan the 
great privilege of choosing a gift from her 
entire collection. And Mother Rowan’s scorn- 
ful sniff did not lessen Miss Dale’s generosity 
in the least. None of us can do more than to 
offer to give that which we prize most. The 
widow Wall in turn tried her best to think of 
something to make a present of. She had only 
a handful of new potatoes but she cheerfully 
dug those with her own hands, and carried 
them on her thin arm — all the way up to 
Phoebe’s, only to have Mother Rowan express 
a very candid opinion of cold potatoes. But 
the contribution most resented by that spirited 


317 


The Little Hills 


lady was the jumble that old Mrs. Crabtree 
sent in her usual lazy, lavish, offhand way, 
maliciously topping the whole with some fine 
tobacco and a bottle of old bourbon. 

“ Ten to one that that old tartar will send it 
all back,” she had drawled. “ But what’s the 
odds? You can see what she does and hear 
what she says, and I don’t care a rap about 
anything else. I’d go myself if it wasn’t so 
far and so hot. For I haven’t made the most 
of my extraordinary opportunity. It’s really 
too bad that she’s going away. Now notice 
and remember everything that she says and 
does. Don’t go mooning, Anne.” 

As for Mrs. Pottle — that generous and 
magnanimous soul had been sweltering over 
the kitchen fire since early dawn, seeing to the 
perfect cooking of many delicacies and to the 
packing of a large basket. The squire, acci- 
dentally learning what she was busy about, said 
that he hardly would have supposed that she 
liked Mother Rowan so much. On this the 
squire’s lady had turned from her ardent labors 
long enough to say that she would gladly 
provide enough of the very best she had, 
to feed the old woman and “him too” clear 
318 


The Release of Phoebe 


to the ends of the earth, out of pure grati- 
tude for their leaving that foolish child in 
peace. 

Hillery Kibbey drove by to get this largest 
basket. It was safely inside the stage when he 
drew up in front of Phoebe’s gate, cutting the 
widest possible swath in turning. He felt his 
important part in this tremendous event. It 
was he who had brought here these two old 
people, to whom this marvellous fortune had 
fallen as if it had dropped from the sky. With- 
out him none of the others ever would have 
heard of that enchanted well flowing with 
liquid gold. The fullest consciousness of all 
this was in his bearing, in the very way that 
he had put on his broad-brimmed hat, to say 
nothing of the manner in which he sat the 
driver’s seat and handled the reins. He hesi- 
tated a little when he reached the gate where 
something was said about bringing out the 
hair-covered trunk which he had taken into the 
house. Under the altered circumstances it 
seemed to him hardly fitting that he .should get 
down now to fetch it. And so he sat still and 
told one of the squire’s black boys to get it 
and also directed him how to tie it quite 


319 


The Little Hills 


securely on the back of the stage. Meantime 
many willing hands were outstretched to help 
the travellers into their comfortable places. 
Mother Rowan rather resented the commotion, 
but it pleased Father Rowan so much that the 
embarrassment with which he made his first 
appearance — after the night before — was at 
once forgotten by everybody. He put his gray 
head far out of the window to nod and smile at 
the semicircle of smiling faces. It was hardly 
noticed that Mother Rowan sat still and stiff 
in her corner and only Phoebe, who stood close 
to the wheel, heard her say that she always 
had hated a fuss. The harsh words were lost 
in the sound of many kind voices bidding 
good-by, and inviting the travellers to come 
again. Arabella’s cheery tones rang high say- 
ing that the captain would surely be there to 
receive them. Phoebe alone said nothing 
because she dared not trust her voice. She 
could not see very clearly either for her eyes 
were brimming with tears. But she was 
smiling bravely and loyally kept her face 
turned the way they were going, as the stage 
started and rumbled off down the big road. 
Then she stood — watching it go farther and 


320 


The Release of Phoebe 


farther — till the new minister gently drew her 
away, reminding her that it would bring bad 
luck to watch the old people out of sight. 

He expected to stay after the others were 
gone but she shook her head. It was best for 
her to be alone for a while — so she plead. 
She wanted time and solitude to think over all 
that had happened; time to see whether her task 
was indeed done as it seemed to be ; whether 
she had after all performed it to the very best 
of her ability; whether she really was no longer 
bound to live any other life than her own, as 
he had whispered at the very moment that 
the stage started; whether she was in truth 
quite free now to love him instead of merely 
letting him love her, as he had urged while the 
cloud of dust was still afloat ; whether it could 
be true that not one shadow of conscience 
was left between them, as he said now with 
his lips close to hers, the instant that they 
were alone behind the flowering vines. And 
so she stood quite firm with that immov- 
able gentleness of hers. He could not resist 
the pleading of those soft eyes that smiled 
shyly through the long lashes which were 
still heavy with tears. But he turned when 

Y 321 


The Little Hills 


halfway across the big road as if to go back, 
and she was tempted to call him. Then she 
suddenly vanished through the door, closing 
it after her and he heard the turning of the 
key in the lock. 

It seemed to him that the door never would 
open again. He could not see it very clearly 
through the vines, as he sat watching and 
waiting beside his study window. Yet he was 
listening too, so intently that he must have 
heard the slightest sound. Then it was very 
still. The neighbors were gone indoors now 
that the sun had climbed so high in the arching 
blue. Only the love-song that a happy robin 
was singing over in the meadow, kept him from 
hearing even the first light footfall that might 
promise the opening of the door. What folly 
to close it! For a moment he was angry with 
her and suddenly stood up, meaning to put an 
end to this needless test of his patience. Then 
he remembered the still more cruel ordeal that 
her tender heart was undergoing before her 
stern conscience. The lovely, foolish little 
thing! He knew that he would not have 
loved her so tenderly had she been one bit 
wiser. It would be his privilege hereafter to 


322 


The Release of Phoebe 


guard her against her own sensibility. Never 
again should she suffer anything that he could 
shield her from. He stood up once more 
and started to go to her. One masterful knock 
on the door would induce her to open it. 
Then he was not so sure and, smiling rather 
ruefully, sat down again recalling the invincible 
strength of her gentle weakness. There was 
nothing for him to do but leave her alone as 
long as she wished. And so the endless hours 
dragged along into afternoon. Now and then' 
he turned to look at the clock to see whether 
time moved at all. At last came the slow 
strokes of five. And he had thought the days 
too short in June when he had first fallen in 
love ! In reality they were much shorter now 
and after a while dim purple shadows began to 
creep along the big road under the great trees. 
Then suddenly the flowering curtain that cov- 
ered her front porch was softly moved. But 
perhaps it was only the evening breeze gently 
stirring the fragrant folds. Yes, it was late 
enough now for the evening breeze to drift 
down from the misty hills and waft the breath 
of the spice pinks beyond the old garden. 
Still — it might be Phoebe — and he bent for- 


323 


The Little Hills 


ward with quickened heart-beats, trying to 
see through the rippling leaves and swinging 
flowers. Then he drew back with a sigh. 
There was no little figure in black sitting 
alone in the familiar place. Yet it was near 
the time when she always came out — aye ! 
past the time. Then the first pang of doubt 
smote him. He wondered blankly what he 
would do, how he could bear it, if she should 
never open the door to him. And this too 
might be. Perhaps he had been overly sure 
of her love because his own was so great. 
Once again he turned drearily to look at the 
clock, but he could not see it through the gloom 
which the twilight was — at last — bearing 
into the room. For the swallows were already 
circling her chimney. Miserably he watched 
them slowly dropping down into their quiet 
resting-place, closer to hers than he ever 
might hope to come. Despairingly his gaze 
sank to the flowering curtain, but the dusk 
was so deep now that he could barely see a 
great white moth fluttering about the very spot 
in which he had hoped to sit by her side. But 
was it a white moth.f^ He sprang up and 
ran down the stairs and out to the gate to 


324 


The Release of Phoebe 


make sure. There again he hesitated, still 
doubting. Yet surely no white moth’s wings 
would hover so long around the same place, 
even though Phoebe might be near. Could 
it be the flutter of a white dress } With this 
thought he was across the big road and up the 
porch step and behind the flowering curtain. 
And there he found her — waiting in the 
fragrant dusk — all in white like a bride. 


THE END 


325 


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iT>a I i W irt T vr^iiM^' 


ROUND ANVIL ROCK 

A Romance 

By NANCY HUSTON BANKS 

Author of “Oldfield.” etc. 

With Illustrations by Gordon H. Grant 
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“ Love is the central theme, and a more delightful heroine than the 
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— Philadelphia Press. 

“ Those who were charmed by this author’s previous success, ‘ Old- 
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“With ‘Oldfield’ Mrs. Banks has already won a lasting place in 
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A Record 

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Glimpses of many fascinating figures are seen in this chronicle. 
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rejuvenated concerns have been very grateful to him. He is rich be- 
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